Nabiki Tendo's domesticated eyes perceived an intermittent vision of the world. It was as if the street was but a vandalized mural ruined by several cans of black paint and only a series of strategically placed lampposts allowed her to see sections of the original picture, beyond the stain of darkness. The sky above seemed to have evaporated, like the rest of the universe had decayed into rolling clouds of black dust.

A bitter wind rolled past the houses of the neighborhood and gnawed at her skin, slowly devouring her warmth. She shivered and rubbed at gooseflesh in her arms, as the blouse and skirt ensemble she had chosen to wear obeyed the laws of fashion, but wasn't quite up to the task of protecting her from the elements.

Nabiki sighed. She really should have brought a jacket.

Her companion didn't try to conceal his apprehension as he stared high above. "Think it's going to rain?" he asked. He appeared to have no problem making his way around on a pair of underarm wooden crutches., keeping pace with her and never once stumbling, even with his attention scattered. Part of the perks of practicing martial arts, she guessed.

"Do I look like a meteorologist?" Nabiki rolled her eyes and wondered why she had agreed to accompany him in the first place.

"No," he answered. "But you do look like someone who pays attention to the weather forecast."

She glanced at him. "Don't you?"

Ranma shook his head. "I don't watch TV, I don't listen to the radio and I don't read newspapers."

"Jeez. What do you do all day?"

It was hard to distinguish meaningful gestures amongst all the arm movement, but she was pretty sure he had just shrugged. "I improve."

Skepticism had served her well throughout the years, to the point where she had rewarded it by making it a staple of her personality. Faced with such fanciful claims, she could not help but do what came to her naturally. She couldn't really conceive of an existence so focused on one thing, especially something so... simple.

Her disbelief crept into her tone and infected it like influenza, launching itself alongside her voice as she said, "That's it? So you just lift weights all day?"

"There's more to training than just lifting weights." He didn't seem at all offended, even if she hadn't taken any particular care in wording her question. His answer bore no undercurrent of frustration or disdain. "I mean, yeah, I work out in the morning, but that doesn't take more than an hour or two and I only do it if I need to. I spend some time practicing my technique, working on my form and meditating. I read some fiction every once in a while and the old man usually sends me out to see some movies whenever we can afford it."

She raised an eyebrow. "And what does that have to do with martial arts?"

"Helps with creativity," he said. "No matter how strong your body is, a dull mind will tear it down faster than any strike."

Nabiki smirked and shook her head. "I think I see where this is going."

"Oh really?"

"Let me guess. Everything you do counts as training, right?"

He smiled. "Heh. More or less."

They walked on. Nabiki threw a couple of curious glances in his direction, but said nothing. She had a question, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to breach the subject. It was something she'd always been curious about, but it wasn't the kind of thing she wanted to question her father on, for fear of how he would react.

Sometime after the fifth such glance thrown his way, he turned to her. "You got something to say?"

She paused and decided to take a chance. "Doesn't it ever get boring?"

"Not even for a second."

"Right..." She suppressed a sigh. She never really understood the passion her father and sister had for martial arts. She just never got the appeal. She never got the why. Ranma's answer spoke of unreasonable, almost fanatical devotion to a form of combat rendered obsolete by centuries of technological advances, and it was about what she'd expected.

She was therefore surprised when she realized that he wasn't finished. "Don't get me wrong. I never said I didn't get bored, but those are just temporary moments of weakness. The mind gets weary, distracted. It's got nothin' to do with the art itself."

Nabiki watched him hobble forth on his crutches and felt her curiosity blossom. Here was a young man her father wanted as his son-in-law, a fact that couldn't possibly be more obvious. That was very interesting, because Soun Tendo never liked any of the young men his daughters befriended. That was the reason why none of them had any close male friends, why none of them had ever been in any serious relationships. A master of Anything Goes was too big an obstacle for any normal young man to overcome.

But now, her father went and pulled a complete 180. What was it about Ranma that made him so valuable to her father? He was certainly attractive so at least the children would be beautiful. Ranma was also very respectable to a man like her father. The young man possessed a sort of brash confidence that made him stand out, made everyone sit up and listen, if only so they could have an easier time tearing it down. But really, she knew none of that had anything to do with it. It was the art. It had to be. That's what her father wanted from Ranma. That's what he was willing to sell his daughters for.

In her mind, in the minds of all his daughters, Soun's attitude was incredibly jarring. She knew that he loved his daughters, the only remains of his family more than anything in the world. In her entire life, she had never doubted that. Never, and that idea was not up for debate. So why then? Was Ranma's art really so valuable? Was it really, truly worth it?

She couldn't stop herself from asking another question. "How long have you been doing this again?"

Ranma looked up and searched the clouds for an answer. "Seriously? Since I was three… I think. Ever since I can remember, really."

"And you've really never gotten bored with it?"

"Would you ask a painter if he was sick of pictures? Or a pianist if he was tired of music? Hell, would you ask Ichiro if he was sick of baseball?"

Nabiki shook her head. "That's different."

"In what way?"

"Those are all professions."

He didn't bother to dispute her point. She'd kind of expected him to, but he surprised her by nodding and moving on. "Alright then. Would you ask a monk if he was sick of praying?"

She stared at him. "Are you calling martial arts a religion?"

"Hey, why not? It's even got several churches! There's the church of self-improvement, the church of protection, the church of violence…" He burst into laughter.

"Be serious."

He waved off her glare. "Alright, alright." His chuckles died down. "Religion is all about the search for strength, the search for meaning, from without. The art is the exact opposite. You just need to remember one thing. I don't just practice martial arts. I am a martial artist. I mean, it's not just a hobby. It's not just a calling. It's… it's like a language. No, more than that. It's a nationality… no, uh… what's the word?" He stopped to search his mind for a second.

She gave him time. Her eyes wandered the deserted streets, lingering on several landmarks. They weren't too far away from the Doctor's clinic.

Ranma's fingers clicked together. "Ethnicity, yeah! Being a martial artist is like belonging to an ethnic group where everyone can kick ass. I may have been born Japanese, but I was raised in the land of fisticuffs. The art isn't something I do. It's who I am. It's what I am. So to answer your question, no, I don't think I've ever gotten bored with myself."

"Don't you think that's a little much?" she asked.

"No, I don't think I do," he answered. "You might think I'm exaggerating, but there's really no other way to describe what the art means to me, what it encompasses."

Nabiki didn't quite know what to think about that. "If you say so."

"Well, what about you? Is there anything you like to do? What are you, Nabiki Tendo?"

"I'm—" What could she say to that? She was a student? An amateur businesswoman? An extortionist? What? In all honesty, she was, "—nothing in particular." For the first time, she felt just a little embarrassed about that. He made her feel inadequate, like she didn't quite stack up. It was a little irritating.

Ranma just shrugged. "Fair enough. What about this Tofu guy? I'm guessing you won't be able to tell me his weaknesses, but could you describe him a little?"

"And ruin the surprise?" she smirked. "Well, I guess you do need the help. Still, this wasn't in my contract."

His eyes narrowed. "Alright then. Just one question. How long has he known your father?"

"Huh? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Has it been five years? Ten? Fifteen?"

She didn't see the harm in answering. "Well, he's been our family doctor for about a decade now."

He mulled that over for a second and nodded. "Thanks. That's good to know. I'm guessing you're all pretty attached to him." She held back a smile. He was lucky he'd asked her and not one of her sisters. "I'll try not to break anything. Oh yeah, you uh… might want to stay outside until it's all over. It's gonna get messy."

She snorted and crossed her arms. "I still don't see how you expect to win with your leg the way it is."

Ranma looked towards her. A playful smile graced his lips. "I've got a few tricks up my sleeves."

His comment drew her eyes to the outer edge of his shirt and the bulging muscles that tightened and flexed to support his body weight.

"I don't doubt that."

"What's up, Doc?"

The words were delivered by a masculine voice and seemed cheerful enough, but were marred by an undercurrent of carelessness. It was like no amount of bad news could knock his smile off of his face. Like you could tell him your entire family just died in a horrible accident and he would just shrug it off, saying something like, "That's too bad. Ya want some pie or something? I've got some in the fridge. It's delicious."

The voice also came from right behind him, close enough to shove him face first into a freezing pool of anxiousness. His sense of anticipation was completely blindsided. The surprise of it almost made him jump up from his chair and kick the intruder in the neck, but that wasn't acceptable. He was a doctor now, after all. Tofu clamped down on his bucking nerves and forced himself to remain still. A second later his pen continued where it left off, scratching words onto paper.

"Aren't you a little old for cartoons, young man?" he asked. He didn't recognize the voice, but the list of people who had both the cause and skill needed to sneak into his clinic without his notice was extremely limited.

"I figured it'd be appropriate. You're Tofu, right? My name is Ranma Saotome. We haven't been formally introduced yet, but I think there's something we need to talk about."

Tofu smiled grimly. "Ah yes. Mr. Saotome's son. You needn't worry. I've already discussed the situation at length with your father."

Ranma hummed, somehow making his complete disinterest abundantly clear. "I'm sure you did just that. I'm also sure that you think that this is all for my own good or whatever. I can respect that." Tofu doubted that. He really did. "But see, this is where I start to have a problem. You used a shiatsu point on me. I'm going to have to ask that you remove it."

Tofu flipped the page and continued to write his daily report. "You know I can't do that."

"Well, I didn't know you could read minds, doctor."

Tofu got the message underlying it all. You don't know me, doc. This was what the boy was actually communicating. A belligerent youth, this one was. He was trying to seem reasonable, but he wasn't making much effort to hide his views.

There would be no compromise today. That much was certain. Still, Tofu wasn't about to attack preemptively. He would just have to follow this sham of a conversation to its natural end. "I need your father's permission before I can perform any operation." Don't be so sure. Your father told me quite a lot about you.

"My old man isn't here, and I'm old enough to make my own decisions." I don't care. Keep your nose out of my business.

"Your father will be back in a week or two and, well, that's a matter of opinion." You're not leaving. Mr. Saotome and Mr. Tendo put all of their children in my care during their absence. You're one of them, and I won't disappoint them.

"Well, aren't I lucky then? Opinions are forever fickle." Do it, or I'll make you.

"Not in this case. I'm not going to change my mind." Just try it.

Tofu threw his pen down and shoved himself away from his desk. His chair screeched against ceramic tiles as it carried him across the room and away from the blunt swing of a wooden crutch.

Ranma stopped the blow an inch away from the desk. "Aw, but you haven't even heard my arguments. I'm sure you'll like them. I've been practicing for most of my life, after all."

Tofu stood up and kicked the chair out of the way. "Mr. Saotome was right not to let you go. Try to understand that, young man. Have a little self-awareness. Here you stand, starting a fight you have no hope of winning and for no good reason."

The young man cheeks flushed red and his lips pulled back in a snarl. "Who are you to judge me, doctor?" The title was spat out amidst specks of secretions and derision.

Tofu bristled under the ridicule. He could barely stomach the arrogance. This boy dared to ridicule his accomplishments? His trade? This little brat had no idea of the amount of effort it had taken him to learn his knowledge and skills. None! Tofu couldn't condone such disrespect from someone who wasn't even half his age.

But Ranma wasn't finished. "I'll give you a damn reason. What you did, it hurt quite a bit. Forgive me if I'm a little aggressive right now in front of the man who ruined my leg while I was unconscious. I gave you a chance to back out, to make things right, but now that you've made your choice, it's time for payback. Maybe next time, you'll mind your own business."

Tofu scoffed. "Do you really think you can just make me do what you want?"

Ranma shook his head. "Nah. I told you, this is just payback." He reached behind him, towards an overstuffed bookcase.

Tofu could have dodged, in fact, he probably should have. But his medical books were expensive, and some of them were quite rare. He couldn't help it. When a reference work the size of a phone book was sent hurtling at his face, he simply raised both arms and caught it. He quickly dropped it somewhere out of the way to make way for the next book.

The doctor had just enough time to contemplate the book's oddly oblong shape before it accelerated, avoiding his hands, and whipped him across the temple. His head was nearly sent flying but for the flesh and bone of his neck. Tofu pulled his head back to face his opponent in time for his eyes to catch another blow heading towards him, a fist this time.

His head was a little woozy, but his instincts were primed and ready. His eyes sent a map of his opponent's form to his brain where it was matched against years of deeply ingrained knowledge.

His index and middle fingers clung to one another and straightened until they resembled nothing but a pair of knives, sharp and well balanced. The call to attack, to counter rang throughout his entire body. They flew out towards their targets like snakes, with the suddenness and speed of white lightning.

They stopped just short of their marks, an inch away if not less. He didn't understand. He tried to push them forwards, he strained and shoved, but to no avail. Finally, he managed to recover his knowledge of basic physics. Ranma's elbows were blocking the way.

The realization that he'd left himself open was stuck in transit. Ranma cocked his arms back and shot them forwards like they were rocket propelled. His palms slammed into Tofu's chest with implacable force, right over his lungs. It felt like getting hit by a fifteen hundred pound wrecking ball shot out of a cannon. He and his breath suffered a cruel separation. It went in one direction and he went in the other.

He slammed into a wall with his legs akimbo. Gravity pulled him down, but a vague sense of warning made him pull his legs back underneath him. Leaning heavily against the wall, Tofu cradled his chest and winced. He tried to breathe, but his body wouldn't cooperate. His lungs swore that they were full even as the rest of his body screamed for air. He tried to force it but was interrupted by a surge of piercing pain, which wasn't at all helped when he began to cough uncontrollably.

He shook his head and tried to recover his senses. He remembered… He remembered being kicked in the face. When considering the distance between he and his opponent, Tofu had predicted that Ranma would continue using his books as ammunition. That… wasn't what happened. Apparently the loss of Ranma's leg wasn't as big a hindrance as he had expected.

"Not quite so easy when I'm awake, is it?" Tofu looked up. Ranma was lounging in his chair, with his limited leg crossed over his knee. With a gratified smile etched on his face he waved Tofu closer.

The doctor didn't quite follow the boy's train of thought. He merely blinked, once and then again.

Ranma's brows furrowed in an increasingly severe manner the longer he was forced to wait. Finally, he smacked his hands together, producing a clap that broke through the lines of grogginess that occupied Tofu's mind. "Oi!" he yelled. "We're not done yet. Come on! Have you no pride?

"So you got knocked around a bit and you can't breathe so well. You've got no one to blame but yourself. If you really spent so much time talking to my old man then you should've known not to underestimate me. Get off your ass. I'm supposed to lose this fight, remember?" Ranma remarked in an infuriating manner. The boy's cocky grin was what really sold the sarcasm, what made it believable, unavoidable. I am better than you, doctor, he seemed to say, adding the title out of spite.

Tofu pressed his hands against his support and pushed himself back up to his feet. Far from being discouraged by this show of endurance, Ranma's smile grew wider and he leaned back into his seat. "If you're going to act like such a big shot then you should at least be able to hit me. Knowledge is useless if you can't apply it, right? So, come on. Show me what you can do, doc."

That inviting smile was maddening. Those vicious eyes were frightening.

Tofu thinned his lips and sighed. This was turning out to be a lot more trouble than he'd expected. He was beginning to realize why Mr. Saotome and Mr. Tendo felt the need to leave the city. Ranma… arrogant or no, one only had to look at him to realize that he had full confidence in his ability to defend himself, regardless of his handicap.

Tofu raised a hand to massage his neck's sore muscles and frowned. Perhaps the boy wasn't entirely wrong. The ache of the flesh was immediately dispelled by his skilled fingers, but the damage was done. That kick had stretched the muscles and maybe even damaged the ligaments. It was vulnerable now. Any further impacts could severely limit his range of motion and absolutely destroy his head's resistance to damage.

Ranma yawned, making sure to exaggerate the sounds and motions to an obnoxious degree.

Not one to keep anyone waiting, Tofu spat out a wad of reddish spit, gathered his wits, and dashed forwards. Ranma, seemingly possessed by the spirit of nonchalance, simply watched him advance.

Tofu gathered speed and dropped into a sliding low kick, aiming to knock the chair's legs clean off. Ranma's trust in his seat was rewarded when it stood on its hind legs. Tofu's voracious attack bit into nothing but air. Undaunted, the doctor brought his other leg over and around into a wide sweeping kick. He missed. The chair clacked and scraped the floor loudly as it landed at his side.

Tofu rolled away before he could fall victim to any attacks and convinced another shallow breath to squeak into his lungs. This wasn't working. Tofu resigned himself to the truth. Ranma was faster than him and his reflexes were top notch. The first attack just wasn't likely to land. He would have to draw the boy into an exchange in order to provoke weaknesses into showing themselves.

He flipped to his feet and settled into an offensive stance. It would give away his intentions, but he needed every ounce of speed he could get. He searched his opponent for information but found little aside from obvious feelings of amusement. Tofu successfully checked his irritation, but it was getting harder and harder to do so. Ranma was proving to be an extremely annoying opponent.

"Come on! Will ya hurry up? Kasumi's making a special dinner for me."

Tofu saw red.

Something about waiting outside of Dr. Tofu's clinic after dark while a young man presumably tried to work out his frustrations on the doctor made her feel like a lookout at a shoddily executed bank heist. Paranoid, stressed, but almost bored out of her mind.

Nabiki paced anxiously along the side of the clinic, glancing at the door handle periodically. "What are they doing in there?" she mumbled, thinking up several unflattering terms for her houseguest. She kept imagining what would happen if one of the doctor's regulars showed up for an unscheduled visit and walked into a scene straight from the first chapter of Assault for Dummies.

Her feet slowed to a stop. Indulging Ranma's request was starting to look more and more like a bad idea.

Nabiki sighed and idly began to gnaw at her thumbnail. What had she been thinking, really? But, maybe she was being too hard on herself. After all, when she had made her decision, she had expected to be wonderfully entertained by Ranma's quest for vengeance. But now, here she was, cold and alone, away from the action. Actually, that brought to mind another, much better question. Why the hell was she listening to Ranma?

She might want to stay outside until it was all over, he said. It might get messy, he said. What a hypocrite. He didn't have any problem fighting with her entire family in the room just the day before.

Nabiki's expression wrung itself into a scowl and she huffed in outraged irritation. The real reason behind his request was obvious, now that she thought about it. Ranma just didn't want anyone to see him lose! Unfortunately for him, she wasn't quite so magnanimous as to deny herself such quality entertainment for such a paltry reason. Determined and excited, she stalked towards the door and grabbed the handle.

Crash!

She moved no muscle, but strained her ears. What was…

CCCRRRRAAASSSSHHHHHHH!

The sound of destruction emerged from deep within and pushed her back with imaginary force. The instincts that forced her into withdrawal left her several feet away from the closed entrance, staring at the innocuous door and questioning herself on the wisdom of her decision. Nabiki swallowed her pride, quelled her beating heart, and did not move closer. Perhaps she was a little hasty in discarding Ranma's advice.

She wasn't a fighter. If she went in there, she would have to rely on the combatants to keep her safe. If he said that she was better off outside, who was she to doubt his word?

That realization made her wonder. Exactly why she had it taken her so long to think of that? Just whose ability had she trusted to keep her safe? Tofu's or Ranma's? Had he really made such an impression on her? It seemed unlikely, but… maybe he was a little more charismatic than she'd realized.

Her eyes drifted to the door handle. Nabiki again found herself contemplating what lay beyond it. She had to admit, that boy was interesting. What he could do with his body… it was almost compelling.

She brought her memory of the sound back to the forefront of her mind and played it back again. It almost sounded like one of the walls had come crashing down on a cardboard box filled with expensive dinnerware. Something brittle was broken into pieces, but that sound was almost immediately covered up by a heavy impact. She tried to think about where in the clinic it could have taken place, but couldn't really come up with anything. Unlike her sisters, she hadn't spent much time inside of it. Giving up, she settled in and began to wait.

Ten seconds passed. Slowly.

Nabiki sighed. She couldn't do it. Something incredible was going on inside those four walls and she was supposed to just wait here and do nothing? It was impossible! Maybe… maybe she could find a way to watch without actually going inside? There weren't any windows she could reach, but if she just opened the door, she could just stay outside and still have a great view of the action!

The strength of her idea carried her forwards and possessed her limbs to fling the door aside, revealing a scene embedded in shadows. The interior of the clinic was fraught with living darkness that clung to every surface, engulfing the room in its entirety.

Nabiki squinted, hoping to pierce the veil of obscurity, to no avail. Her ears depicted a picture of savage style. Their movements crashed through the air with such force that the sound of its displacement matched that of a gale passing through a mountain range. They were close. Close enough that the breeze born of their intensity caressed her skin with maddening constancy. Close enough that her heart began to curl in anxiety.

The frustration mounted. She was scared, but apparently not scared enough. So, with thoughts of failure and disappointment nibbling at her impulses, she took a step out into the void. And then another. And another.

"Aah!" she shrieked.

Some long and white object entered her field of vision and flashed towards her head. She recoiled instinctively, but it was moving far too quickly for her to do anything. Before she could even take a single step backwards, it had reached her head, gone past it and struck the wall with a sharp crack.

A sudden onset of blinding light forced her eyes shut.

"Don't move!" a harried young voice ordered.

She froze completely, like her joints were made of cement. For once, Nabiki wasn't inclined to disobey what was so blatantly an order. For several seconds, she stood amidst a hurricane of movement, breathing deeply and standing perfectly still, attempting to gather her scattered wits.

A rush of wind, louder and somehow sharper than the others, caught her attention and dragged it back into the fight. She dared not move, and suddenly she wasn't sure if she even wanted to watch. All of her focus was applied into making sure she remained stock still. As far as she knew, any distraction might just prove fatal. Her fear swelled and ballooned from a dwarf into a titan and in that moment, she felt as though Ranma could kill her with an errant cough. So she chose to keep herself ignorant of the undoubtedly fantastic goings on.

That decision was not to last. Once again, her curiosity got the getter of her. Her lust for knowledge, information of any kind, gained in momentum with every gust, every blow, every whisper of movement around her. She had no choice. She had to see. Her eyes cracked open, almost against her will.

The first thing she saw was his pigtail whipping along the path set by his head half a dozen feet above the floor. With a rolled up blanket wrapped around his arms and chest, he cut through the air in the middle of an acrobatic flip.

Ranma twisted his body in midair to bring his feet back between his chest and the ground, but before he could hit the ground he was set upon by familiar figure wearing an unfamiliar expression.

It was Dr. Tofu, and he looked angry.

Nabiki found herself marveling at the way a few twists and creases in a normally trusted and almost comforting face could turn it into something so repulsive. With his upper lip peeled off of his teeth in a vicious snarl, the murkiness of his glasses' lenses took on a more sinister flavor. His arms were raised above his shoulders, making him look like a Russian wrestler about to take on a grizzly.

But Ranma was a wily beast indeed. Despite the doctor's dangerous approach, his movements weren't at all hurried, his reactions not at all rushed, making it seem as though he were in complete control of the encounter, as though Tofu's actions were nothing he hadn't encouraged into occurring. He landed cleanly within the doctor's range, keeping one leg off the ground and shoving it knee first against Tofu's advance.

The older man slammed into it with reckless abandon, receiving it directly into his solar plexus. Intellectually, she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that it must have been terribly painful, but Tofu didn't seem to agree. His toes scraped against the floor in an effort to gain more traction as his forward momentum pushed Ranma back several feet and forced him off balance, flipping the angle of his body from an aggressive forward slant to a vulnerable backwards slope. Gravity immediately worked to pull him down using innumerable ropes attached to his every molecule.

And just like that, he was falling.

His arms were busy blocking Tofu's sudden onslaught of furious punches and the only leg that could support his weight was trapped between Tofu's thighs. There was no way he would be able to drag it back. He was falling, and in that moment she was convinced. He had lost. The rest of the fight was a mere formality. Once he hit the ground, that was it.

Tofu's head snapped towards her with a crack.

Nabiki blinked. How…?

The leg that was still lodged in Tofu's abdomen somehow managed to find enough space to extend and smacked the doctor solidly across the side of the head. The man wobbled dizzily, but still managed to keep Ranma's good leg between his own. The young martial artist was past the point of no return. His back would certainly hit the ground and he would not be able to recover before Tofu's recovery.

Ranma must have forgotten about his affliction, because he quickly pulled his free leg back beneath him. She grimaced, expecting a show of agony that would only exacerbate the unholy beat-down Tofu was going to inflict on the young martial artist. But just as it touched the ground, before any weight was put upon it, it bent.

He landed on his knee, hard enough for her to wince in sympathetic pain. A flash of white streaked towards Tofu's neck and wrapped around it like a boa around its prey. The doctor, visibly choking and thrashing about, pulled desperately on the rolled-up blanket, but it would not budge, it would not release him. His face quickly grew ripe with old blood, his movements decayed, becoming sluggish and weak.

Ranma, still holding onto the other end of the blanket, looked at his opponent like a snake about to spit venom. He jerked back onto his end of the makeshift rope, sending the doctor into a tumble, releasing his leg, and pounced onto him like a wild jungle cat pounces on an ostrich. Tofu's grunts and choked squeals gained a more strident pitch as he was forced to carry the weight of his attacker, but still he refused to go down. A flurry of movement enveloped the two of them until Ranma somehow managed to, while he was upside-down, grab onto Tofu's waist and thread both his legs through the doctor's armpits and over his neck.

Ranma's leg and back muscles were immediately put to work, the fibers pulling together and exerting monstrous pressure onto his captive. With Tofu exhausted and only half-conscious, he never really stood a chance. He buckled under the force and was driven into a downward arc.

Crack!

The back of his head hit the floor with a hefty sound, and his struggles ceased.

Nabiki stared wide-eyed as Ranma pushed the doctor's motionless form off of him. That crack had sent shivers running down her spine. "D-did you kill him?"

The boy didn't answer right away, allowing her apprehension to shoot up into the stratosphere and explode, raining down on everything below and poisoning the earth. He got up on all fours, gasping heavily. Now that she had a good look at him, she immediately noticed the pallor of his skin and the abnormal amount of sweat his body was producing. He remained there, failing to catch his breath before shaking his head. "No. He'll be fine."

She couldn't just take him at his word, though. "What was that noise then? It sounded like his skull cracked right open!" Of course, she could always check his pulse, but she wasn't about to get any closer to a potential murderer.

He threw a glance towards her, and spoke in short, breathy sentences. "You see any blood? That sound was the floor breaking. He's a martial artist. You think he'll die from that?"

He was right. There was no blood. If he had been severely injured, or worse, then there would definitely be blood and lots of it. She relaxed. "Oh. So he'll be okay?"

He only nodded. His chest heaved as he tried to gather enough oxygen to fuel his needs. It didn't seem to work.

"Are… you okay? You don't look so good."

He shook his head. "No, I'm not. You mind doing me a favor? The medicine cabinet over there," he nodded his head towards it, "can you get me some syringes?"

She blinked. "Some? How many do you need?"

"Four or five big ones," he answered. She didn't bother to ask him why.

The room was trashed, almost completely destroyed. Broken fragments from the walls and ceiling littered the floor, shards of wood and plaster that she had to walk around. One of the acupuncture tables was broken in half and several of the cabinets were turned over and smashed against the ground, breaking their glass windows and spilling their contents in a wave of junk. The good doctor was going to have a hard time cleaning this place up. She sympathized.

But then, payback was a bitch.

She spotted a few plastic syringes, still intact in their individual packs, and picked them up. "Here," she said, handing them out.

Ranma nodded in thanks and took his shirt off.

Well, would you look at that.

He was incredibly muscular. His torso was not at all bulky or thick, but with ridges that accentuated the definition of each muscle. It was like he didn't have an ounce of fat anywhere in there. It was like looking at a torso's musculature in an anatomy book. Everywhere she looked there were acres of smooth skin wrapped tightly around powerful muscles.

Everywhere she looked… "What the hell is that?" she muttered, staring at a perfect purple handprint on his stomach, just to the right of his bellybutton.

Ranma grabbed the syringes from her outstretched hand and quickly ripped one out of its packaging. "I'm pretty sure it's a move called poisoned Buddha's palm." Grimacing, he pricked at the injured area with the pointed end and slowly pulled back on the stopper.

She flinched. Poison? "What does it do?"

He smirked. "The names of most martial arts techniques tend to be really obtuse or really literal. This one's from column B." The syringe was filled with black blood and discarded. Ranma breathed a little easier and picked up another pack.

She couldn't believe it. Really, she couldn't. "He poisoned you? Dr. Tofu poisoned you?"

"Yeah. I managed to stop it from spreading." He stopped, taking a second to think about what he'd just said. "Well, most of it. I gotta say, it was a really good move. I didn't expect it at all."

He smiled ruefully and shook his head.

His easygoing attitude wasn't what one would expect from a man who had been poisoned. "So… so it wasn't really going to hurt you, right?" Nabiki allowed herself to relax, just a little.

He looked at her and shook his head, immediately stripping her of her comforting illusions, "No. If he had done it to you, you'd probably be dead by now. I'm trained to handle most avenues of attack, but I'm lucky he didn't get me over my heart or my lungs."

Nabiki groaned, barely holding back the urge to thrash the boy for not reacting like he was supposed to. Why the hell was he taking this so lightly? React properly, damn it! "What the hell did you say to him? And how the hell did you stop it from spreading? Oh god, tell me you didn't mention my sister. Please, tell me you didn't mention Kasumi. Or me. Tell me you didn't mention me." This new information was radically changing her view on Kasumi's… on her entire family's relationship with the doctor. His little episodes hadn't been cause for worry, because he had never really hurt anyone before. She hadn't believed him capable of such acts. She really hated being proved wrong.

Ranma discarded his fourth used syringe and sighed in relief. "I didn't mention you."

"And Kasumi?"

He shrugged. "Maybe I mentioned dinner."

She insisted. "Did you say her name?"

He scratched at the back of his head, sheepishly. "Does he have a thing for her or something?"

Nabiki palmed her face and pushed back the rising crest of panic. "Oh no. What are we going to do? Wait, what am I saying? I can't tell them. No one can ever find out that we're behind this."

Ranma shrugged and hopped to his feet, keeping one leg off the ground. "You could always help me pack."

"Pack what?" she asked, as he hopped towards Dr. Tofu's office, bending down to pick up a bag along the way. "And where'd you get that knapsack?"

"I brought it with me. And books, scrolls, stuff like that."

She followed him into the room, noting that at least this room was relatively intact. A chair was overturned close to the wall and a few paper documents were scattered across the floor, but nothing else jumped to the eye. "You're stealing Dr. Tofu's books? What for?"

Ranma hopped over to the desk and picked up his discarded crutches off of the floor before setting the bag down on the desktop and zipping it open. The bookcase was within easy reach, and was quickly pilfered of its most pertinent contents. "Not stealing. Borrowing."

Seeing that the clarification wasn't exactly convincing her, he added, "The pressure points he used to mess up my leg were very specific, and they had to be hit in very precise ways at precise intervals to do what they did. It only activated when I tried to pick up something heavy, and I'm guessing it would have worn off after a while if I hadn't. There's no way he can remember something so obscure from his memory alone, especially if he rarely uses the technique."

That actually made sense. She'd misjudged him. "Is that why you came here?"

Ranma continued to stuff his bag with centuries of arcane knowledge. "What I want is to get rid of this curse. To do that, I need to go back to China. I came here to undo what he did to me, one way or the other. I asked him to fix my leg and he said no. If he wouldn't do that then he wouldn't lend me his books either, meaning I had no choice but to take them. Okay, I probably could have stolen them, but he thoroughly deserved his ass-kicking." After finishing with the obvious source of books, he quickly began to check the desk's drawers, flipping through any documents he could find and picking out whatever caught his eye to stuff it into his bag. "I'll give them back eventually… or maybe I'll burn them or bury them or something. He did poison me. I mean really, this is the guy that's supposed to look after me! Your old man can't choose patsies worth a damn."

She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. "And what if he comes after you?"

He stopped what he was doing to stare at her disbelievingly. "What? You really think I can't handle him? Think I should take the opportunity to break his legs?"

She jerked back, disgusted. "No!"

"Good. I was wondering where your limits were." He nodded thoughtfully. "That's good."

That made her pause. He was scoping her out? "Why? Why is that good?"

His face flushed as he began to laugh nervously. "I'm supposed to marry one of you, aren't I? I don't think our fathers will let it go, even after I make it back to China. I figure I should get to know you three better while I'm stuck here, before I make my decision. It might keep the old man off my back if it looks like I'm not totally blowing him off."

"W-what?" Somehow, she hadn't realized that he would still be considering marrying into the family. More importantly, she hadn't realized that he was considering marrying her. "But-but you and Akane!"

Ranma shouldered his plunder and picked up his crutches. "That's weird. I don't remember agreeing to anything like that. Don't put words in my mouth, Nabiki." He shook his head and hobbled past her. "Anyway, I'm going to head back and get started on this stuff. You going to stick around and make sure he's okay? I don't think he noticed you come in, so you could always pretend like just you walked in on all of this."

She followed him outside, walking past the doctor's prone form. She thought about it, but couldn't really muster up any sympathy. "No." She didn't have time to stick around, waiting for Tofu to wake up. Ranma had given her plenty of things to think about. Besides, this was a nice neighborhood. He'll be fine.

"Alright. Think Kasumi's done with dinner? I'm kind of hungry."

"Probably." She eyed his bag and wondered, "How are you going to explain that? You can't tell my sisters anything about this."

He shrugged. "I'll think of something."

As it turned out, the majority of the books Ranma had picked out from doctor Tofu's library were too advanced for him to peruse out of hand. In most cases, the author assumed that the reader possessed prior knowledge on the subject and failed to elaborate on certain terms, which forced him to explore other sources in search of answers, sources that were equally as obtuse and opaque. It was like trying to build a puzzle where every one of the pieces was hidden in separate bins filled to the brim with similar pieces belonging to other puzzles. Ranma figured that his task would get easier once he found out what the picture in the puzzle he was trying to assemble was supposed to look like, but he found himself having some trouble getting started. His eyes skimmed over entire paragraphs without registering a single word, forcing him to double back constantly once he became aware of his own distraction.

It was only now that he was alone, sitting on an old futon in the Tendo's upstairs guest room that he began to feel the pressure, the anxiety that permeated the entire house. It was the silence that finally got to him though, bearing down on his mind and tearing at his resolve as he flipped through a book he had stolen an hour before.

He couldn't focus, couldn't think about the books he was forced to decipher. It was all just a waste of time, a setback on top of a thousand others! With a grunt of disgust, he threw the book across the room and flopped back onto his futon.

Ranma grasped his anger and held it close, hoping to use its heat to warm himself down to the marrow. But maybe he held on too tightly, or maybe its bite was never as strong as its bark, because after a few seconds of rage-induced invulnerability, his wrath faded away into nothing, leaving him with little more than a shattered corpse decaying into wispy fumes of melancholy.

"Damn it," he whispered, staring at the ceiling. "Why'd you have to stand against me, old man?"

It was surprisingly draining… having to fight the one person that has always been on his side.

Before they came here, no matter where they'd traveled, it used to be that Ranma could always count on his father to stand by him. They sparred and argued and insulted one another but none of that mattered because at the end of the day, they walked together. At the end of the day, it was the Saotome clan versus the world.

But not now. No, now he had to go up against his father, his greatest and only companion. Now he had to go up against his father's friend, a fondly remembered training buddy that his old man had apparently never thought to mention, whose daughters he was to choose from because they were apparently betrothed long before they had ever even met. Now, he had to go up against that buddy's friends, who were at best marginally involved in any of this! How many people was he going to have to fight? How many outsiders were going to stuff their noses right in his family's affairs? He could handle one master. He could learn to handle two… but he couldn't handle everyone they've ever met!

Ranma growled and mashed his palms against his face, but it didn't relieve any of the frustration he felt. Finally, he fell back onto his training and forced himself to calm down. Anger was the enemy of thought, and it would not help him win this fight. He sat up and rolled forwards, balancing on his head with the greatest of ease. Settling into a more comfortable position, he crossed his arms and legs and began to meditate.

I can't do this alone.

That fact was becoming increasingly obvious. If his enemies kept multiplying then he needed to gain allies. Even if it hurt to think of his father in such terms, that was exactly what he needed to do. Genma would fight him every step of the way on this, using any method he could stomach. That much was clear.

So… allies. Hmm… How am I supposed to get someone to stand with me? Wait, before that, where am I supposed to find someone like that in the first place?

He mulled over that dilemma for a minute, but truth be told, he didn't have much of a choice.

An ally needed two things before it could become useful. It needed to have the ability to influence the battlefield and it needed to care about the fight it was asked to engage in. In other words, his allies would need power, physical or emotional, and motivation. He didn't need to look very far to find people who fit that description; he just needed to find a way to turn three caring daughters against their father.

Genma got Tendo's support by being his friend, and Tendo presumably got Tofu's support through friendship as well. Ranma had always been told to make his enemy's methods his own, so the first step towards making the Tendo girls his allies should be to befriend them. They had to like and/or sympathize with him more than their father.

But, there was a slight problem with that; they were girls and Ranma had never befriended a girl before, let alone three.

Well, it can't be too different from making friends with guys, can it? And these girls are all initiated in the art; in different ways, yes, but still. How hard can it be? I just have to do what I always do.

Making friends was a simple thing to do. It usually happened in four easy steps: find the strongest guy in the area (who was usually the only person worth befriending), engage the prospect in a competitive activity, win the competition and exchange gifts and/or services to seal the deal. That's how it had worked with Ryoga, when he took the time to lead the boy home after school and that's how it happened with his good buddy Ucchan, when the boy gave him free Okonomiyaki every time he visited. And really, that's what his closest friendships were built on.

Fighting and giving. Always fighting and giving. They fought for everything, from respect to food and everything in between. They fought because it was fun. The flames of combat forged the bond between them and the offerings tempered the steel of the chains that linked them together.

That's how his friendships were formed, and he wouldn't have it any other way. But, a niggling doubt tried wiggle through the walls of his confidence. Could he really apply that pattern to these three?

He thought about it for a second… thought about seriously challenging each of the three girls to a martial arts competition. Akane would accept in a heartbeat, Nabiki would shrug him off, Kasumi would… would… He had no idea how Kasumi would react.

No... that's not going to work.

He couldn't just fight indiscriminately this time. He was going to have to go on the offensive, to beat them all at their own game. Body, mind and spirit.

During his training, he was taught that against a strong body, he should defend and avoid. Let it exhaust itself. Against a strong mind, he should employ all of his skills to keep it off balance, to confuse and outwit it. Against a strong spirit… he should show no weakness.

Kasumi's greatest strength was her spirit, the battlefield was will and the objective was domination. This one was the most complicated of all. For him to win, he would have to get her to submit. Maybe not entirely, but he would have to impose his will over hers. Not an easy thing to do, especially not in her own house.

Nabiki's greatest strength was her mind, the battlefield was perception and the objective was to uncover the opponent's field while keeping your own unfathomable. Usually, it meant figuring out every aspect of the opponent's martial art, from his range, strength, skill, etc. to his state of mind, his patterns and more, while he tried to do the same, taking care not to be fooled by deception. Nabiki wouldn't fight him, but she was trying to figure him out. He would just have to beat her to it. To win this fight, he would have to learn everything about her before she could learn everything about him.

Akane's greatest strength was her body, and the battlefield was combat, but she wouldn't be able to compete against him in that area. The objective was to defeat the opponent, and he was stronger, faster and more skilled in the art. She wasn't on his level, but to hold back would be an insult.

He tried to think of a way around this, but nothing came to mind, except maybe giving her more gifts to make up for the difference.

Ranma frowned thoughtfully.

What kind of gift am I supposed to give them, anyway? Flowers and chocolate or something?

Ranma rubbed at his chin thoughtfully and hummed. Yes, that made sense. He definitely remembered seeing that somewhere… and if he was really desperate, he could always give them jewelry. Girls liked jewelry, especially if they were made out of diamonds and gold. That was an indisputable fact. But diamonds were kind of expensive… and they probably wouldn't like it if he… 'found' them. Well, he got the impression that maybe Nabiki might not care too much but her sisters would definitely object. He couldn't bring one to his side only to alienate the other two. He wanted all three of Soun's daughters.

Well, I guess that can wait until later.

Ranma released his breath and closed his eyes. "I won't lose, old man. Not like this," he whispered.

With his resolve revitalized, he pushed off the floor into a handstand and hand-walked over to his bag to pick up another book.

He had work to do.

It felt like every muscle in her body united together to impede her progress towards the second floor guest room, where the young man her father wanted for a son was resting after ripping through the dinner she had prepared. A ten-story tall question mark had branded its message into her mind, twisting her arm until she cried uncle and submitted to its unholy power.

She could have asked her younger sister, but something told her that such an act would reflect badly in her guest's eyes. If she wanted to deal with the young man, she needed to respect him and, most importantly, she needed to have his respect. She had not known him long, but his actions spoke loudly indeed. Ranma Saotome would not respect cowardice. She would have to confront him face to face in order to get anywhere.

Standing in front of the closed door leading to his room filled her with a variety of small insects wiggling their way inside her body; Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and ants tread dutifully down her nerves. She was nervous, but that was understandable. With her father absent, the cursed youth was undoubtedly the strongest person in the house. Even without the use of his leg, she doubted any of them could make him do anything he didn't want to.

She didn't know his character, but regardless of that, she and her sisters were at his mercy.

She breathed in deeply, took hold of herself and knocked on the door. "Ranma, can I come in?"

"Sure. Come on in." His response was prompt and sure, as if he had only been waiting on her to make the first move before he made his invitation.

Kasumi balanced her tea tray on one arm and slid the door pane aside. She took two steps inside the room and stopped suddenly, just as her consciousness finished its analysis of the room's layout. The first thing she noticed was that Ranma was upside-down, balanced on his head with his legs crossed and a book held up before his eyes. The second detail jumped to her attention a split-second later, and all of a sudden she remembered something else about their situation that made her doubt her father's judgment.

Ranma was wearing his sleep clothes. He wasn't wearing clothes specifically designed for sleep like the pajamas her father favored, but rather clothes he intended to wear when he was sleeping; In this case, a pair of boxers and his skin.

Kasumi looked down almost immediately after she realized what she was looking at. She had seen such well-defined muscles before, but only in anatomy books, never in person and never when they were covered by skin. The skin was splattered with fading bruises, but the effect was still striking enough to flush her cheeks with embarrassment.

Seeing so much of his… manly physique reminded her of the fact that there was a virile young man living in close quarters with several beautiful young women, in a house where she was the only adult supervision. Then, if that weren't enough, their father had told them only yesterday that this young man was to eventually marry one of them. Never had she thought that Soun Tendo would allow a situation like this to happen under his roof. It was unthinkable.

Father, just what are you trying to do here?

Her father's peculiar behavior was part of why she was so nervous, but the rest of it was just Ranma. He was younger than her, but she knew that she held no authority over him. If he obeyed it was because he wanted to. He was only sixteen, and yet he was already so independent that he would not give it up without a fight.

His blue eyes focused on her the instant she walked into the room. "What's up?"

She gnawed at her bottom lip before speaking, holding onto the tray a little too tightly. "Um, Ranma. Would you like to have some tea with me? There's something I need to talk to you about."

"Sure," he agreed.

With the first hurdle past her legs, she picked up momentum and shed some of her hesitation. She walked a little closer and set the tray down between them, sitting seiza style on the wooden floor as he flipped over and set the book face down behind him. She poured them both a cup, his before her own and was briefly comforted by the familiarity of the movements, actions that she had performed thousands of times over the years.

Ranma picked up his cup and took a swig. "Hey, this is great!"

She smiled. Despite his lack of manners, it was always nice to receive compliments for her cooking. "Thank you, Ranma. Would you like some more?"

"Yeah, of course!" He quickly gulped down the rest of his cup and set it back down on the tray.

As she refilled his cup, she started to ask the question that had filled her mind for the past few hours, but a fit of nerves took hold of her and she wound up asking something completely different. "Ranma, what were you doing just now?"

He drank from his cup, slowly this time, so as to savor the taste. "I was meditating."

She picked up her own cup and emptied a small amount of the liquid into her mouth. "On your head? While you were reading a book?"

And half naked?

"Yeah."

"Doesn't that negate the effects?"

He shook his head and took another sip. "Not really. I don't need to find my center."

Her eyes snapped onto him. "That's remarkable! At your age?" In fact, it was more than remarkable. It was practically unbelievable.

He shrugged. "I know, but you didn't come here to talk about that."

His eyes stared fixedly. She quickly looked away. "No… I didn't."

"Well? Don't be nervous. Spit it out."

She bit her bottom lip, and did as he asked. "Ranma, where did Nabiki take you earlier?"

He shook his head. "Don't skirt around the issue either. Say what you really mean."

She closed her eyes and let her suspicions loose. "Did you steal those books from Dr. Tofu?"

"No," he said. "Well, yes. I just didn't do it behind his back. When he wakes up, he'll know it was me."

She sighed and sat her cup down on the tray. So her suspicions were true. "What happened?"

"I confronted him and demanded that he fix my leg. He didn't want to. We fought. I won. I took his books so I could learn to fix my leg on my own. That's pretty much it."

Succinct, wasn't he? She stared at his reflection on the tea's surface and sighed again. "Is… is he alright?"

"Yeah, he'll be fine." Ranma leaned back, pressing a hand against the ground to hold himself up. "Now, what are you going to do about this?"

"Doctor Tofu is a friend of mine," she said. She didn't know why she said it, as it wasn't really relevant, but she said it anyway.

Ranma nodded. "Well, it's your house, your decision. Do what you think is right. If you want me gone, I'll go."

She looked up, meeting his eyes. "No, I couldn't possibly…"

He held up his hand and said, "Look, don't rush into a decision before you know all the facts and don't let guilt push you into anything. I can take care of myself, leg or no leg. If I stay, it might ruin your family's relationship with the doctor."

He sat his cup down on the tray and leaned forwards. "Know this. I won't apologize, I won't make amends and I will not give these books back without a fight. Not before I can fix my leg. At this point, I'm not sure I would trust Tofu to fix it properly, so he's just going to have to wait until I figure out how on my own. If he has a problem with that, then we'll just have to fight.

"You can do whatever you want, but maybe you should stay out of this. It's got nothing to do with you. The doctor can make his own decisions and he's got to live with the consequences. He knew what he was doing, knew I'd come after him. He must have thought he could handle me, because I'm young and injured. He underestimated me, and he paid for that. Don't make the same mistake. Do what you need to do."

Ranma picked up his cup and swallowed the rest of his tea in three full gulps. He sighed in satisfaction, sat the empty cup down and bowed his head. "Thank you for the tea, Kasumi Tendo."

Kasumi matched his bow and accepted his thanks automatically. "You are welcome, Ranma Saotome."

She thought about those words for a second, thought about this young man wandering the streets in the rain on a pair of crutches… but something seemed wrong with that image. Oh yeah… rain… man.

Kasumi then thought about a beautiful redheaded young woman wandering the streets in the rain on a pair of crutches and realized that there was no way she was going to allow that to happen. Somehow, she didn't think Ranma truly understood what he was in for if he was forced to leave this house.

There was no other way. They had not taken his independence, but they had managed to cripple it. She could not blame him for doing what came naturally. "Ranma, you have suffered under our care and we are partly to blame for your misfortune. My father has wronged you, regardless of your father's intensions. Our family will bear its share of the responsibility. You will be welcome here for as long as you will have need of our hospitality."

He watched her carefully, but she didn't flinch. He nodded. "Sorry about this. I'll try not to cause trouble."

She smiled grimly. "I appreciate the sentiment, Ranma, but I have a feeling that might not be so easy." It probably wouldn't be. Not as long as he kept winning.

He chuckled. "Maybe not. Still, thanks. What do you plan to do?"

"I'll talk to Dr. Tofu, see if he won't reconsider," she proposed.

He grimaced. "I don't think he'll be in the mood to listen right now. He's probably angry and he'll only be embarrassed if you go see him now, so uh… you might want to wait a few days. Give him time to cool down."

Kasumi found herself considering his words, and that act raised the realization that her friendship with the doctor had already been tainted. She just… couldn't believe it. That such a sweet man could do such a terrible thing. Every time she visited him, he strove to make her laugh, acting outlandishly and saying silly things. She had never thought him capable of hurting another person. Never.

But he had hurt Ranma, hurt him so badly that he could no longer stand on his own two feet. Not by face-to-face combat, something that her father had taught her to respect, but by subterfuge, by sabotage! It was… jarring. It felt as though someone had pulled the carpet out from under her feet, or maybe it was more like someone had pulled the veil from her eyes, letting her see things as they truly were, that maybe Dr. Tofu wasn't the man she thought he was. It was hard for her to see him as something other than a harmless comedian. He made it so easy to believe that.

The realization was difficult to swallow, its bitter taste urging her to spit it out, to open up to someone and talk about it. Her eyes traced over Ranma's features and her tongue moved of its own accord. "You know, yesterday I would have discarded your advice," she told Ranma.

The young man quirked his head confusedly. "Really? What changed your mind?"

Kasumi's eyes dropped down. "I'm starting to think that maybe I don't know Doctor Tofu as well as I thought I did."

He smiled wryly. "And you think I know better?"

"Father always said... that you never really know someone until you fight them." Her father… now there was another man who'd recently revealed facets of his personality that she'd never imagined. It seemed like the male figures in her life were falling like dominoes. That thought put her in a gloomy mood, but maybe she still needed to grow up a little. To see them both from an adult's eyes, with an adult's expectations. Maybe then she wouldn't be so disappointed in them.

"Really?" he said, crossing his arms. "So what does your old man think about me?"

She smiled for him as she often smiled for her sisters, trying her best to reassure him. "You don't need to worry, it's nothing bad. If there's one thing I've learned over the past few days, it's that my father likes you. He likes you quite a bit."

He mulled that over for a minute and shrugged it off. "I'll take your word for it."

Kasumi picked up her slightly cooled tea and took a long sip. "Will you be going to bed soon?"

"No. I won't be going to school tomorrow either," he informed her.

She nodded. "I understand. Will you need anything?"

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I might need another set of hands. Think Akane will be able to help?"

She winced at the very thought. "I'm afraid that Akane isn't very good at precise movements, despite her other talents. It might be better if I helped you instead. I have some slight training in acupuncture."

Ranma nodded in easy acceptance. "Alright, if you think you can handle it. I'll let you know if I need any help."

"Please do so." She bowed her head and picked up her tray.

Well, that wasn't so bad, she thought. She'd just gotten a good look at Ranma (in a completely non-physical manner), and it seemed that he was a reasonable man. She felt a little better about his presence inside her home as she made her way out of the guest room.

"Good night, Ranma."

"Night," he said distractedly, as he leaned over a battered scroll.

She shut the door and left him to his research.

A niggling feeling scratched persistently at the back wall of her mind, like a mewling kitten softly trying to catch her attention. It felt like she was being watched and it was really beginning to interfere with her concentration. At this rate, she wouldn't be able to finish her homework before bedtime.

Eventually, the sensation got so annoying that she turned around for the sole purpose of proving it wrong.

"I was wondering when you'd notice," he said as he lounged on her bedspread, looking like he'd stolen some of the smug satisfaction entitled to her intuition, like the cat that scarfed down the canary.

Nabiki's eyes flew open with blunted shock, then narrowed into a glare as she spun on her seat to stare him down. "How did you get in here?" she hissed at low volume. The last thing she wanted was to have one of her sisters notice and get the wrong idea.

He shrugged. "I walked in a while ago. You were so absorbed in your homework that I decided to wait until you took a break or something."

Nabiki scoffed and shook her head, unimpressed by his 'thoughtfulness'. "Haven't you heard of knocking? And would you keep it down? I don't want my sisters to know you're in here."

Ranma paid no heed to her complaints as he pulled himself up and leaned onto his crossed legs. He stared into her face, his expression carefully blanked, but for a glimmer of expectation. "Your older sister asked me about where we went before dinner, so I told her about what happened."

"What? Are you crazy?" she complained furiously. "You told her even after I specifically told you not to tell anyone? What kind of idiot are you?"

Ranma's eyes slowly widened throughout her diatribe, and he leaned back as soon as it was over. "Whoa. Remind me never to trust anything you say, ever."

"W-what?" Nabiki found herself at a loss and spent a moment trying and failing to understand why he would say such a thing. "Don't try to change the subject!"

"I'm not," he denied, and pointed at her accusingly. "You're lying to me."

"What are you talking about?" she questioned him, shaking her head.

He gave her a look then, with half lidded eyes and quirked lips, that asked who she was really trying to fool, before he let loose a voice fattened by condescension. "Come on. You're about ten years of hard training away from being able to sneak around me, especially with your father out of the house. I don't need to see you to know you're there."

She crossed her arms, an irritated expression settling on her face. "Will you start making sense?"

"You want me to spell it out? Fine." He shrugged. "You were listening in when Kasumi came to talk to me, so I know that you were faking it just now, but I couldn't tell at all. Not even a little bit..." He grimaced suddenly. "Man, this might be harder than I thought."

Nabiki leaned back into her seat and sighed. "Are you going to keep on speaking gibberish all night or can I go back to my homework?"

Ranma snorted and shifted off of her bed. "Yeah sure. Looks like I need more training before I can win here, anyway. See ya later."

She kept her eyes on him as he picked up his crutch and silently slipped out of her room, going back to her homework as soon as he was gone. Five minutes later, she closed her books and roughly stuffed them back inside her bag, huffing in frustration as she resigned herself to leaving it incomplete.

"Ten years away, huh?" she muttered under her breath as she pierced the door with her glare. "We'll see about that..."

Yeah, I know. This took forever. I have no excuse. As always, feel free to review with any comment that passed by your head as you read this chapter.