Chapter One: The Day Everyone Claimed
Ranma Saotome did not wake up thinking about his birthday.
He woke up thinking about survival.
The loud thud outside his room followed by Genma's unmistakable yell of "SAOTOME SECRET TECHNIQUE—RETREAT!" was usually a strong indicator that the day had already gone wrong.
Ranma groaned, rolling onto his side and pulling the blanket over his head.
"Five more minutes," he muttered. "If I ignore it, maybe it'll go away."
It didn't.
Instead, the sound of arguing rose through the dojo, voices overlapping in a way that made his stomach tighten even before he recognized them.
"You can't just decide that!"
"I already decide!"
"That's not how people work!"
Ranma froze.
That… sounded like Akane.
And Shampoo.
At the same time.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. "You've gotta be kidding me…"
He glanced at the calendar tacked crookedly to the wall.
The date stared back at him.
Oh.
Right.
His birthday.
Ranma exhaled through his nose. "Great."
Downstairs, the Tendo dojo had transformed into a battlefield before breakfast.
Akane stood in the center of the room, fists clenched at her sides, cheeks flushed with frustration. Across from her was Shampoo, arms crossed confidently, expression sharp and unyielding.
Ukyo leaned against the wall near the kitchen entrance, spatula resting on her shoulder, watching the exchange with narrowed eyes.
And perched far too comfortably on the railing was Kodachi Kuno, dressed in a frilly outfit that looked suspiciously like something one would wear to a wedding—or a theatrical duel.
"I say again," Shampoo declared, chin lifted, "Ranma spend birthday with me."
"No!" Akane snapped. "You don't get to decide that!"
Shampoo scoffed. "Why not? Ranma fiancé."
Akane's face turned red. "That doesn't mean you own him!"
Kodachi clapped her hands dramatically. "Oh, such passion! Such fire! Truly, only I can appreciate my darling Ranma's boundless spirit on the day of his glorious birth!"
Ukyo sighed. "You're all missing the point. He didn't even say what he wants."
At that exact moment, the sliding door opened.
Ranma stepped in, hair messy, shirt half-buttoned, eyes still heavy with sleep.
"…Why do I feel like I walked into a nightmare?"
Every head snapped toward him.
The room fell silent.
Then—
"RANMA!"
Four voices shouted at once.
Ranma took an immediate step back. "Nope. Whatever this is, I didn't sign up."
Akane turned toward him, clearly trying to rein in her temper. "Ranma. Happy birthday."
He blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Oh. Uh… thanks."
Shampoo was already at his side, grabbing his arm. "Ranma come with Shampoo today. I make special birthday date."
"No, he's not," Akane said instantly, grabbing his other arm. "We were going to—"
Ukyo stepped forward. "Hey, Ranchan, I already planned food. You don't skip meals."
Kodachi twirled, ribbons fluttering. "And after that, my beloved shall witness a spectacle of love and danger unlike any other!"
Ranma stared down at the four hands gripping him.
"…Did anyone think to ask me?"
No one answered.
By late morning, Ranma was already tired.
Not physically—this kind of chaos was routine—but mentally.
Akane walked beside him through the shopping district, unusually quiet. The morning crowd bustled around them, voices blending into a dull background noise.
"So…" Akane began, then stopped.
Ranma glanced at her. "You okay?"
She nodded too quickly. "Yeah. I just… I thought maybe today we could hang out. Just us. No fighting."
He smiled faintly. "That sounds nice."
For a brief, fragile moment, it almost felt possible.
Then Shampoo dropped down from a rooftop and landed between them.
"Lunch time," she announced brightly. "I cook."
Akane clenched her fists.
"We already ate," Ranma lied.
Ukyo appeared from the opposite direction, pushing her food cart. "Funny, 'cause I made extra just for you."
Kodachi's laughter echoed from above as she swung down dramatically from a lamppost.
Ranma sighed deeply. "I knew I should've stayed in bed."
The rest of the day unfolded like a relay race of disasters.
Shampoo dragged him to the Nekohanten, glaring at anyone who dared look at him for more than a second.
Ukyo intercepted him halfway through dessert, insisting he couldn't celebrate properly on an empty stomach—even though he clearly wasn't.
Kodachi challenged Akane to a "friendly demonstration" that ended with three broken benches and a screaming audience.
Kuno appeared, declaring himself Ranma's "greatest rival and protector," which somehow resulted in Ranma being kicked into a wall.
Ryoga got lost while trying to buy a gift and accidentally challenged the wrong martial arts club, starting a street-wide brawl.
Through it all, Ranma was pulled, shoved, argued over, and treated like a trophy no one bothered to ask about.
Akane watched from the sidelines more than once, frustration tightening in her chest.
She had wanted something simple.
Something quiet.
But every time she got close, someone else claimed him first.
By the time the sun began to dip toward the horizon, Ranma had had enough.
"I'm going home," he said flatly.
Everyone froze.
Akane turned to him, surprised. "Already?"
He nodded. "Yeah. I'm done."
Before anyone could argue, he walked away.
The dojo lights were on when Ranma returned.
Nabiki sat at the table, counting money with a satisfied smile.
Ranma stopped short. "Why do you look so happy?"
She glanced up. "Oh. Happy birthday."
He narrowed his eyes. "What did you do?"
"Nothing," she said innocently. "You, however, were very busy."
She slid an envelope across the table.
Ranma opened it.
Coupons. Tickets. Cash.
"…Why do I have money?"
Nabiki smiled wider. "Commission. From several very motivated individuals."
Ranma stared at her. "You sold my time."
"Borrowed," she corrected. "And very profitably."
He groaned, rubbing his temples. "That explains everything."
Akane stepped inside just in time to hear that.
"Nabiki!" she exclaimed.
Nabiki shrugged. "Relax. He survived."
Ranma snorted. "Barely."
Akane looked at him, guilt flickering in her eyes. "I just wanted to do something nice."
Ranma looked away. "I know."
That somehow hurt more than if he'd argued.
That night, Ranma lay flat on his futon, staring at the ceiling, bandages wrapped around his arms.
"So," he muttered, "this is what being remembered feels like."
Outside the room, Akane stood quietly, listening.
She clenched her fists.
Tomorrow, she promised herself, would be different.