Ranma spun her empty cork board serving tray in her hands, a song in her heart. Hana and the girls had fawned over her so much since the fight, and she couldn’t remember a time where she had felt so comfortable in her own skin. Certainly not since Jusenkyo. Granted, a significant chunk of the personality her coworkers and - dare she say, adoptive family - had been getting to know over the last week was a lie. She suspected that there would be some awkward conversations, but for the time being, she was just happy to have a place - and a tribe - in which she could feel like she belonged. Dare she hope - a family?
She’d even felt confident enough in herself when she woke that Friday morning to brave the lavender sundress she found in her closet, and not entirely because everything other than dresses was in the laundry, either. She hadn’t re-braided her hair since Izumi had undone it days ago, and while its unruly motion had been a bit annoying during the fight in the alley, she was certainly enjoying the absence of the ever-present headache from her hair being pulled tight at the scalp. She flushed visibly whenever she thought about it, but when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored back wall behind the bar counter, she almost - almost - felt cute.
“Oi, Ranko! Table six!”
Ranma broke eye contact with herself, shaking her head with flushed cheeks and a self-admonishing smirk. Over here preening at myself in the mirror when I’ve got work to do. Like… a girl. She scooted over to the bar, picking up three yellowish cocktails and a basket of fried shrimp. She smiled brightly, acknowledging Yui as she moved the items to her tray. Yui was grinning too; it felt so good to see the poor kid smile, even if the younger girl did seem awfully freaked out whenever she was asked to carry one of the bar’s signature Dragonfire cocktails to a table. For some reason, the redhead seemed more concerned than most about the blue flames rising from the burning 151-proof rum floated atop the cocktails coming anywhere near her skin.
After their conversation the night before, Yui felt as if she had a better understanding of why smiles had been rare on the Phoenix’s newest ward. She had also noticed that the new server could not seem to take her eyes off of herself in the mirror, and wondered if Izumi’s dress from the closet upstairs was the only reason. The new girl had come off as something of a dour tomboy since she’d been staying at the Phoenix. Then again, Yui thought, if I went through what it sounds like she has, I wouldn’t feel especially womanly, either. In the moment, though, there was an undeniable radiance about Ranma. She had been on her feet nonstop for six hours, but she looked like she was walking on clouds.
It was Izumi’s night off, so Ranma was managing table service on her own, with the occasional assist from Hana. She was holding up fairly well, despite the bar having served drinks at a steady clip all evening. Typical for a Friday, Mei had told her. They had karaoke going on at the tiny corner stage; Ranma deduced the machine must have been added after the bar’s construction because the space wasn’t broken up into smaller rooms like other karaoke bars she’d heard about. While most of the singers were pretty bad, the guests seemed to be having a good time owing to a steady flow of liquid courage. That meant a steady flow of income to the bar, though, and Ranma was glad for it. Hopefully me being here is helping them as much as it’s been helping me, she thought as she picked up the pen she’d left for the last table to sign their credit card receipt and slipped it into her pocket. She was also glad that the dress she was wearing had pockets. She didn’t understand why girls didn’t want all their dresses to have pockets; they were so convenient!
Noticing a lull in the needs of her guests, Ranma started piling dirty glasses into the dishwasher. On the stage, a heavyset man in business attire finished his butchering of Madonna’s Like a Virgin and sat back at his table to a smattering of polite applause. A trio of young women in matching yellow taffeta dresses - a bachelorette party, they’d told Ranma - went on stage together, one of them selecting a popular Japanese pop song from the computer on the folding table to stage left.
Ranma started the dishwasher, doing a quick scan of her tables to see if anyone seemed to need anything. All of her customers looked well-satiated for the moment, so Ranma pushed through the blue swinging door to the back room to see if Hana had any tasks for her. She found the bar’s proprietress in her office, looking over some paperwork. She seemed kind of worried, and very busy, so Ranma thought it best to leave her to her work. Instead, the server returned to the front room, slid behind the service bar and poured herself a cup of soda, leaning against the wall for a quick moment. She could feel the wall vibrating slightly with the bass from the eighteen thousand watts of sound thumping through the building’s frame.
“Who’s next?” she heard Mei call out to the crowd on the wireless dynamic house microphone from the stage after the three young women finished singing. “Come on, somebody’s gotta be brave enough to come up here and sing for us!” It was getting late, and the patrons remaining in the bar must have all had far too much to drink to brave an attempt to carry a tune, because Mei was getting no takers.
Seeming to give up, Mei sidled around the service bar, smiling a bit deviously at the new girl. “Hey Ranko, can you come here and give me a hand with something?”
Ranma blinked, peeling her eyes off of the mirror behind the bar again. Gods, what the heck’s getting into me tonight? She shook her head forcefully, willing some of the butterflies in her mind to evacuate through her ears, and called back with a “Sure thing!” She finished her soda in a single draught, setting her glass in the sink. Ranko smiled brightly, as she was glad to be of help to the women who had declared themselves her new family in any way she could. “Whatcha need, Mei?”
The blue-haired girl said nothing. She just reached out and handed Ranma a small metal cylinder. Ranma looked down at her hand and her eyes grew wide. “No. Uh-uh. No way!”
Mei nudged the microphone in Ranma’s hand closer to the younger girl’s chest. “Aww, come on! I heard you sing the other day. You were great!”
Ranma blushed, shaking her head trepidatiously. “But that was to myself! This is in front of people, who are like, paying money to be here and stuff!”
Mei grinned deviously, tilting her head toward the stage. “Sounds to me like it’s your first concert, rock star! Go on, get up there!”
Ranma shook her head vigorously, taking a step back behind the counter. “I… I can’t! I need to take care of my tables.”
With a mischievous grin, Mei snatched up Ranma’s serving tray. “I got it.” The redhead looked around the room for another excuse - any other excuse - but was running out of ideas fast.
“Leave the poor kid be, Mei!” Yui called over from the bar.
“No, Yui, you don’t understand! I’ve heard her. She’s amazing!” Ranma blushed even deeper as Mei spoke, especially once she realized that the crowd was hearing the entire conversation over the hot microphone in her hand.
Mei pulled Ranma’s wrist up, bringing the steel microphone with it. “What do you think, folks? Who wants to hear Ranko sing?” A raucous cry of approval came from the mostly inebriated crowd at the side of the bar closest to the stage; most of the tables at the far side near the front door were still focusing more on their food and conversation.
Ranma thought she would pass out if any more blood flowed to her face. “I will get you for this, Mei Hotaro,” she said as she mock-glowered at her antagonist. However, she did tentatively walk in the direction of the stage, mindful of every pair of eyes on her as she stepped up onto the raised platform. Mei, controlling the karaoke machine from the computer on the little folding table near the arcade machine, selected the Japanese pop song she’d caught Ranma singing a few days ago.
Ranma looked up at Mei like a deer in headlights, but Mei just gave her an encouraging smile and mouthed “you got this” silently. Yui bounced a bottle of tequila across four cocktail glasses at a four-count each, flashing her own hopeful smile up at the nervous redhead before reaching for the lime juice. The intro to the song began to play, and Ranma swallowed hard, grateful she’d just had something to drink to counteract the dry mouth her nerves were well on their way to creating.
Ranma took a deep breath, fidgeting on her feet, and closed her eyes. If I can’t see them, maybe they can’t see me. It was ridiculous, she knew, but it gave her just enough courage to hit the first note. Her voice was tentative and quiet, but she made it through the first line, and then a second, and she started to hear the scrape of chairs on the wooden floor. Half a verse and I’m running them off already, she thought to herself.
She opened her eyes to witness the carnage, and what she found instead was that nearly everyone in the bar had turned their chairs to face the stage. The conversations at the various tables had largely ceased. She blushed again, shrinking a bit in her stature at the attention. As the first verse ended, the crowd, sensing her apprehension, gave her an encouraging round of applause and cheers, and Ranma couldn’t help but smile.
Well, to hell with it, she thought to herself. I’ve already made as big of an ass of myself as I can up here, I might as well have fun with it. When the lyrics of the second verse began to change color on the karaoke monitor to her left, Ranma again began to sing, this time with her full chest voice. It was a fairly slow ballad, and her voice carried hauntingly over the speakers throughout the bar. Mei had stopped to stand behind the bar counter and Yui put her strainer and shaker down, as neither had any customers who wanted to pay attention to their drink orders at the moment anyway.
As Ranma sang the chorus, the saloon door swung open and Hana emerged, standing in the doorway and leaning in the archway behind Mei. Her face showed an air of curiosity at first at how quiet the bar had sounded from her office, but once she saw who was on stage, and the rapt attention of her patrons, she crossed her arms over her chest and smiled proudly at her youngest ward. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Mei leaned over to Yui. “I told you she was great,” Mei whispered, and Yui could only nod in assent. The blonde’s eyes were transfixed on the stage.
Ranma’s voice ramped up for the more powerful final verse of the song, adding a few little runs in some of the longer notes. She was still blushing, but she was also smiling broadly. No one had ever adulated her for anything that hadn’t resulted in anybody getting their asses kicked before. Now this whole room of people, for whom she was good enough for nothing but fetching their onion rings and shots not ten minutes ago, was enchanted by her voice. It felt strange and glorious and liberating and terrifying all at once, and Ranma channeled all of that emotion into belting the final note of the song, a G in the fourth octave that lasted a full five seconds. When she lowered the microphone, there was a second or two of stunned silence, and then the assembled patrons began to clap.
And cheer.
And stand.
All of them.
Ranma blushed more furiously than she thought possible, bowing deeply to the crowd in part to have an excuse to hide her face. “Thank you,” she whispered into the microphone before placing it back into the little clamp at the top of its metal stand. Mei and Yui were clapping too, but Hana slipped out from behind the bar to meet Ranma as she descended from the tiny stage in the corner.
Ranma looked up at her with a worried expression. “I’m sorry; I know I shouldn’t have done that while I was working, Mei asked me…”
She trailed off as Hana hushed her with a raised hand. “Ranko… honey, that was – you are – incredible.” She reached out, pulling her teenage charge into a congratulatory hug. The crowd was only just beginning to cease their clapping and return to their food or drinks. Ranma couldn’t hear it, but more than half the conversations at the tables were about what they had just heard.
Yui joined the pair near the triangular wooden stage, grinning at Ranma when Hana released her. “You keep that up, Ranko Tendo, and everybody’s going to know your name before too long.”
Ranma gulped. Not only do they not know my name, but you don’t either, she thought to herself, her joy at the audience’s adulation quickly giving way to a sense of shame. She hated how dishonest she felt in the presence of her new family. I did what I had to do, but I don’t gotta feel good about it.
She didn’t have time to focus on it, though, because Mei tossed her cork board serving tray back to her like a frisbee. “Your public awaits, Miss Tendo.” With a chuckle and a blush, Ranma headed toward the closest table.
Each table she visited went much the same. There was universally effusive praise for both her singing and her service. The women from the bachelorette party produced a Polaroid camera and asked Ranma to take a picture with them. She squirmed, but Mei walked up behind them and took the camera. “Everybody smile now!” Mei commanded, and Ranma was amazed at how easy she found it to comply.
Shortly after, last call was announced and the customers began to make their exits. Ranma buzzed around the tables after them, collecting checks and empty glassware. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Yui had said. Everyone will know your name. How could that be, when no one did? She had left the name Ranma Saotome behind a week ago, and – she hoped – all the baggage that came with it. All the fights. All the proposals. All the drama. She didn’t want any of it anymore. She just wanted a chance to live. Finding a way back to her male body was still a fantasy, but far less of a determination than it had been at any point since the Cat’s Tongue. Perhaps it was that time was robbing her of hope, but she wasn’t sure a part of it hadn’t been that she was discovering a happiness and an independence as Ranko that Ranma had not known and might never know. That said, she was living a lie, and she hated it.
Ranma caught another glimpse of herself in the mirrored wall behind the liquor display while dropping off a load of empty glasses. This time, she stopped to really examine herself. The bruise on her face was gone. Her hair hung in a loose, wavy curl over her right shoulder, still retaining some of the shape of being trained into a braid for years. The dress wasn’t really anything she would have worn before “it” happened. It would have looked ridiculous on Ranma Saotome, but somehow, once she stopped forcing herself to think about it as a boy would have, she found that it suited Ranko a lot better. In fact, Ranma wasn’t sure if Akane would recognize her if she walked through the door right then. Just the way she stood was different - her posture was one of confident poise, and not the perpetual anguish and shame of the last few months.
It’s all a lie. It isn’t real. Nothing about it is real. I’m not Ranko, I’m not really a girl, I’m really… She shook her head, sighing. Maybe it wasn’t real, but there was a voice inside of her, the one who didn’t care about the dresses as much as she did the hugs and encouragement and - dare she say, love - that wanted it to be. She wished in that moment, ridiculous as it was, that she could erase the whole of her past and make the lies she had told the truth, just so she’d never lose the first real acceptance she’d ever found.
She made a fist, biting her jagged fingernails into her palm. That day on the mountainside with Koh Lon played through her mind on repeat. The day her life as she knew it had ended for good. When a relationship with Akane had become impossible, and when it had become all but guaranteed that she could never again meaningfully take a form other than the one she now inhabited. It was the day she lost all hope that there was a place for her with the Tendo family, and the day Genma and Soun stopped looking at her with even the faint inkling of pride they had managed before. It was, for all intents and purposes, the day a boy named Ranma Saotome died.
But… if Ranma had died, then whose life was she living? Not his, for sure - he wouldn’t be caught dead in that lavender dress, standing on that stage, or tittering and joking with the women who ran the Phoenix. And yet, the young woman in the mirror couldn’t think of anything she wanted more. It was only the memory of the boy she had once been that forbade her from allowing herself to truly embrace the life she was starting to cobble together, brick by brick, day by day.
She wasn’t relying on any of her old tricks and scams, like play-flirting with someone for a free octopus puff. Nor was she getting by on her fighting skill, or leaning on any of her old connections. Everything good she had experienced over the last few days was built by the slender, feminine hands that she now called her own, probably forever. This new person, whoever she was, had earned every bit of the happiness she currently felt with her own charm, her own kindness, and her own work ethic and determination. It was hers, and that didn’t feel like a lie. The boy she had once been had his martial arts mastery, a fiancée (or four), a place to live, and everything else about his life foisted upon him without having ever chosen any of it for himself. Back at the Tendo place, Ranma didn’t even do half of her homework on her own; Nabiki had earned herself more than a few new pairs of shoes out of her math classes alone. Ranma owned nothing about her old life. But whatever little this new person had, it was hers, and it was real, and she deserved it, and she wanted it.
Ranma made up her mind. She knew what had to be done.
“Hana, may I please be excused for a few minutes?”
The leather-clad barkeep nodded with an easy smile. “Of course, Ranko.” She could see deep thoughts roiling in the young girl’s eyes, and figured the experience on stage had more profoundly impacted her than Hana had originally thought.
Ranma pushed through the saloon door, walking up the stairs to her right and popping open the door to the little apartment she’d been staying in. She picked up the yellow plastic laundry hamper, rummaging through it for her black gi pants. When she found them, she slipped her hand into the pocket and pulled out a well-worn men’s trifold leather wallet made of brown nylon.
Her hands shaking, she opened it and pulled her old Furinkan High student identification card out from behind the clear plastic window in the center panel. She had no other proof of her former existence. She stared intently into the eyes of her male self in the little square photograph affixed to the card, sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked over the address, the name, the school name, and the emergency contact information. None of it matched her new life anymore any better than the picture did. It felt like a lifetime ago, and someone else’s lifetime, at that.
She gazed wistfully at the laminated blue card in her hand, speaking aloud into the eyes of her former body in the photograph as if they were a Ouija board. “I’m sorry. I am. I tried. I swear I did.” Her eyes welled with tears, but not necessarily sad ones. “I’ve fought this as hard as I could, for as long as I could. I tried everything. But, it’s time.”
Ranma stood, slowly and resolutely, and made her way to the little gas cooktop in the corner of her studio apartment. With the slight turn of a knob and push of a little red button, she ignited the pilot light under the ceramic tea kettle. She looked again into her own eyes in celluloid, turning the card slightly. When she did, its glossy coating caught a glint from the ceiling light, causing a reflection of her face to appear superimposed over her male form’s photograph. “I’ve carried you as far as I can. Your ghost is drowning us both. Every day I spend trying to save you is a day I don’t get to spend figuring out who I am. I can’t do it anymore. I deserve to live.”
She swallowed hard, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance. But I have a chance now, a real one, and just this once, I choose to save myself. I have to.” She steeled herself, trying to convince the pretty girl looking back at her in the full-length mirror mounted to the back of the closet door that the flicker of hope in her heart was real. “I am wanted, I have worth, and I have people who care about me.” She smiled ever so slightly. Yui was right; it did help a little.
With a determined sigh, Ranma picked the tea kettle up off the burner, placing it on the cold burner next to it. The radiant heat of the flame below her wrist prickled at her skin, but the discomfort did not come with the same searing feeling of shame accompanying it that it usually did.
I am wanted. I have worth. I have people who care about me. I am wanted. I have worth. I have people who care about me.
Ranma reached her trembling hand forward, letting the corner of the little card make contact with the blue flame from the burning gas, and it started to catch. She dropped it quickly into the drip pan to avoid the agony of a burn, and watched as her photo began to shrivel and blacken. Simultaneous tears of sadness and relief began to flow from her eyes as the last corner of the card vanished into ash, the stench of burnt plastic from the laminate assaulting her nostrils.
As it did, a pair of soft beeps from the digital alarm clock on the nightstand indicated the stroke of midnight. It was November twenty-fifth. She looked back at herself in the mirror, wiped away her tears and smiled confidently at her reflection. Her shoulders were back, and her spine was straight. Where shame had once resided, pride now reigned.
“Happy birthday, Ranko.”