Okay, gang...

       I think I've finally gotten this story together. It's nowhere near perfect, but it's about as close as it's gonna get, seeing as I'm running outta time to get it out, ne?
        And now, let the Games begin...
       
       


        NagaNO! part two (conclusion) a Ranma 1/2 fanfiction by Ukyou Kuonji
       
       

        February, 1998 rolled around. After much wrangling and arm-twisting, the Japanese Olympic Committee had gotten the permission from the IOC for Ranma Saotome to compete last in any event he participated in, as he had demanded of the JOC. They had managed to convince the IOC that the inclusion of their world-renowned favorite son would make for exceptional box office, and the IOC ultimately relented, but not without some muttering about how this would set a bad precedent for future Olympics.
        The concept of Ranma-chan, however, was one that the committee was not prepared to deal with; having had to deal with East German 'women' with questionable ties to their alleged gender, the IOC was far too skittish to permit an admitted male to compete as a female, regardless of how unmistakably female his body could be at times. Besides, they argued, if this Saotome is the powerhouse athlete his press releases claimed him to be, it would simply be that much more unfair to unleash 'him' against women athletes when he supposedly would be able to defeat male opponents so handily. The JOC accepted this decision; after all, as long as Ranma Saotome was competing, why should they get bent out of shape about the 'male-only' restriction?
       
       

        The day of the opening ceremonies arrived with all the customary pomp and ceremony attendant upon these sorts of events. Doves were released, and the Olympic flame was lit by Midori Ito, figure- skating veteran of several previous Olympics. Ranma had been asked to light the torch, but still smarting as he was from being goaded into competing, demurred that honor to Ms. Ito, stating publicly that it would be bad form for a current competitor to do the honors, and thus set himself above the others right from the start. The JOC agreed to this, but managed to get Ranma to acquiesce to a five- kilometer stretch of the torch relay in rural Honshu, where, they assured him, he wouldn't be seen... much.
        Standing amongst his fellow teammates, Ranma cringed as he recalled the run. It was about two weeks before the games, and the torch was wending its tortuous way through all four major islands of Japan. Ranma's run was on the leg of the journey carrying it north to Hokkaido from its arrival at Narita Airport a day or two previous. As an additional nod to his privacy, he'd managed to wangle a nighttime run. Not that things would be all *that* tranquil, anyway:
        Akane, Shampoo, Ukyou and Kodachi had all insisted on accompanying him as bodyguards. Which would have been all well and good, if only he hadn't felt the need to have bodyguards to protect him from his bodyguards...
        It was about one o'clock in the morning when he arrived at his post on Route 6, just north of Isohara, to receive the handoff. While the girls slept in the JOC-provided van, Ranma prepared himself for his mission by stretching out and jogging a bit in place. Despite the cold and the dark, he was starting to sweat a bit. «It's been a while since I ran like this. This feels kinda good.» He was actually starting to look forward to this by the time his predecessor appeared over the hill, complete with motorcycle escort.
        "Ranma..? Is that you?" That voice sounded familiar.
        "Sentaro?" The runner nodded. "Hah! Strange not t'see ya on a horse, man. What brings you here?"
        "Well..." Sentaro panted, "it's safer this way. Horses have a tendency to run away on me.."
        "You mean *under* you, don'tcha?"
        Sentaro grinned ruefully. "Something like that. Anyway, it's good press for the Daimonji Dojo, too. Any tie-in to the Olympics is good business. True, the Olympics don't have much to do with tea ceremony, but.." By now, Sentaro had arrived, and handed the torch to Ranma. The two of them began to jog in place for a moment as they continued their conversation: "Anyway, I understand that you're gonna be the Great Wet Hope."
        "Very funny. As a matter of fact, the IOC put the damper on my participation as a female. Which is fine by me. Did you know they've entered me in *eight* events?"
        "Yeah, I know... hey, I read the papers, too. My heart bleeds for you, you know that? All that publicity, all the glory that could be yours..."
        "...and all the headaches I get for bein' so damn famous. Will you stop with the sarcasm already? It sounds like a lotta fun, until you've got it. Even before I was famous, all the kids at --"
        "Sumimasen, honored torch-bearers," the policeman on the motorcycle broke in, "but we have a schedule to adhere to. If you wish to continue this conversation, might I suggest you do so as you run?"
        "Oh. Yeah, sure. Sorry about that..." It suddenly occurred to Ranma that if they kept quiet, and pretended nothing was out of the ordinary, he could leave the girls behind and save himself a
        *lot* of trouble. "C'mon, Sentaro. Keep up with me, now..." The two former rivals jogged side-by-side as Ranma continued to complain.
        "Where was I now? Oh, yeah. The kids at Furinkan. I mean, they useta mob me even when I first arrived; everybody either wanted to kiss me or kill me -- and some'a then wanted to do both, I swear! And all this other publicity's just made it worse. Sure, the dojo's doin' well, and I guess I'm happy for that, but I've got no private life anymore. I'm just hopin' that this'll finally get people off my back. Kinda like, 'Okay, I'm out here, I'm competing. Now, will ya let me be?'" He waved his free hand around to punctuate his words. Occasionally, he would even forget himself and swish the torch around.
        "Hey... take it easy with that firestick, will ya?"
        "Oh... sorry about that. You okay?"
        "Yeah, I'm fine... but *you* don't seem to have your head screwed on straight. You compete, and all Japan's going to expect you to win. And if you don't, they'll come down on you like a ton of bricks."
        "You think I don't know that? But hey, winning these events is gonna be a piece of cake..."
        "And if you *do* win, you're still young, you know; they're going to recruit you for Salt Lake City."
        "I think I'd rather go to Sydney..."
        "I wouldn't say something like that if I wanted to be left alone like you do."
        "Don't sweat it, Sentaro. I think I've worked out a way to uphold my honor and still be box-office poison for next time."
        "Well, you sure aren't box-office poison yet." As they crested a hill, the taller boy saw it first, and yelled at Ranma: "Kami-sama! Get a look at this!" The road in to the little village of Ueda was lined with people holding candles, standing vigil, waiting for...
        "Ranma-gami! He's coming!" the crowd shouted as one. The entire populations of Ueda, Onohama & Taira had turned out, and probably others had come the hundred-plus miles from Tokyo and Yokohama, to get a glimpse at Japan's athletic superstar.
        "Kuso..."
       
       

        Back in the van, Akane was becoming aware of a nasty crick in her neck. «Oooh, that's gonna hurt in the morning. I'm going to have to see Dr. Tofu about this...» All at once it occurred to her *why* she had such a pain; she had been sleeping slouched over in one of the van's captain's chairs. She looked across at the driver's side chair, and realized that Ranma wasn't there.
        For once, Akane considered giving him the benefit of the doubt. «Okay... so maybe he's outside warming up...» But not completely; she opened the passenger's side door and slid out to check for herself.
        There was no one. She squinted as far as she could in either direction, but there was no sign of Ranma or the torch. Akane scowled. He'd ditched them all!
        Well, she'd show him. She opened the driver's side door this time, threw herself into the chair, and turned the key that had been hanging in the ignition all this time. She stepped on the gas, hard, and the machine rumbled and roared to life, waking up all the other girls in the process.
        Ukyou was the first to clamber to an upright position. "Hey, sugar... whaddya think you're doing?"
        Akane had a death grip on the steering wheel as she gunned the engine. "I'm going to *kill* him! Leaving me behind like this! Why won't this damn thing MOVE?!"
        Ukyou slipped into the passenger's seat. "Gotta take it outta 'Park', sweetie." Ukyou gently took hold of the transmission lever and set it in 'Drive'. The van lurched forward, throwing the girls around like dice in a cup, and causing Ukyou to wonder whether that had been such a good idea, after all.
       
       

        During their journeys through China, Genma and Ranma had found an abandoned automobile outside of Chengdu. With a little tinkering and a lot of luck, they had managed to get it running, and it carried the pair most of the way across the Qinghai-Sichuan highway before breaking down for good just south of Jusenkyo. A pity, really... they could have used the old beater to get away from Joketsuzoku in a hurry. As they travelled, Genma took the opportunity to educate his son in the art of driving. It was Ranma who had driven the quintet to the Isohara checkpoint -- luckily, the girls had been awake and squabbling the whole trip, so he didn't have to worry about falling asleep en route.
        Akane had no such luxury. Life in Tokyo, even in a neighborhood as far removed from downtown as Nerima, didn't require automobiles, as a rule. And a good thing, too -- the price of an auto is prohibitive, even in the best of times. So she had no idea what she was doing behind the wheel, only that she would catch up with Ranma and demand an explanation for leaving her behind like this!
        Which proved more difficult than it looked; the accelerator and the steering wheel were far more sensitive than she had anticipated (or maybe her anger made her that much stronger). As a result, the vehicle continued to careen all over Route 6. And while this posed some danger for the occupants of the van, who were still bouncing around like popcorn, at least at two in the morning, there wasn't anyone to worry about colliding with... until they crested that hill and saw the road lined with people.
        So far, Ranma and Sentaro had simply been jogging through the line of people, the candles they held serving as a runway upon which they were travelling to the next checkpoint. Suddenly, they heard screams from behind them. Turning around, Ranma was startled to see the JOC van coming towards him, but veering from one side of the road to the other. The people holding vigil were dropping their candles and running, lest they would be hit by this maniacal driver. Sentaro gaped. "Masaka... at least a horse isn't as capable of doing that much damage..."
        "Akane..." Ranma groaned to himself. "It's got to be." He handed the torch to Sentaro. "Could you hold this for a second? I guess I've gotta deal with this." He began running toward the out-of-control van, leaving Sentaro dumbfoundedly holding the torch.
        Inside the van, the girls were screaming too. Everyone was yelling at Akane to stop the thing, and Akane, having long since forgotten about Ranma, was shreiking back that she would, but didn't know how. All at once, a humanoid form came running at them, glowing blue.
        Ranma didn't actually have a formal technique for this, but he figured if he released enough chi energy into the van, it could stop it cold. Waving people away from the edge of the road, he got to the van and touched the front grill, releasing his energy burst. There was a loud crackling noise, a thunderous clunk, and Ranma hopped onto the hood of the van as it coasted to a stop several yards off the road. Once it had stopped, he leaped off the hood again, and ran back to the road to inspect his handiwork. The entire engine block had completely fallen out, and the van had simply run over it on sheer momentum. He watched as the engine continued to emit steam into the cold winter air.
        "Well, this wasn't part of the plan, but it doesn't hurt..."
       
       

        Of course, this didn't make him any less popular with the public at large; indeed, he had been hailed as a hero on the spot. The JOC, on the other hand, was not amused. Nor, for that matter, was Nabiki. "Do you realize the JOC's forcing us to buy the van because of the damage? What's the matter with you, Saotome?" "Hey, don't look at me. It's was your sister driving the stupid thing. I had to stop her somehow, or people woulda gotten hurt. Besides, you can sell the parts for scrap... they're all in fine condition and working order.
        "That's not the point... I've been doing nothing but losing money on you ever since you agreed to go."
        "Well what're the odds they're giving you on me, anyway? That oughta bring in a hefty return, ne?"
        "Well, yeah, my bookies are giving me 1,000 to 1 odds against you pulling off what you say you're gonna. In each event. That's as close to zero-odds as they'll go. But when they see me putting money down, they get skittish. They've limited me to 5,000 yen per event."
        "So what's wrong? I make one event, and we've paid for the van straight up. No problem."
        "Yeah, well... if I bet on you like this, and you really pull it off, someone's gonna think you threw the event."
        "If by that, they think I'm doing it deliberately, then they're right. But I'd do it regardless of whether you were betting on me or not. And your bookies know what I'm planning, right?" Nabiki nodded, reluctantly. "Yeah! And they're *still* giving you those long-shot odds. Just keep a low profile, and they won't mess with ya."
       
       

        As he approached the room that would be his throughout the course of the Games, Ranma was once again besieged by reporters wanting to know more about him, his reputation, the story behind his reluctant entry, and so on. Ranma leaned heavily against the door, and waited until the hubbub of questions died down, and then addressed the media for what he intended to be the one and only time.
        "Gentlemen (and I use that term *very* loosely)... when I was still holding out, I heard phrases bandied about to the effect that 'the nail that sticks up will be hammered down.' Well, congratulations. You've got your nail hammered down; I'm here, I'm competing. But when a nail gets hammered into a piece of wood, it more or less disappears, you know? And that's all I'm going to say. You guys hounded me into this; I really don't see why you need anything more from me. Besides, I've got to get ready for the competitions." And with that he walking into his room, and closed the door. The reporters could hear the click of a lock being turned. It looked like an interview was going to be out of the question.
        This didn't stop all of them, though. One enterprising young journalist decided to interview his fiancees, on the assumption that they would be able to paint a reasonable up-close-and-personal look at the phenomenon that was Ranma Saotome.
        Kodachi Kuno described her Ranma-sama in glowing and florid prose as a knight in shining armor, capable of etching his name in Olympic history both here and at Sydney. Ukyou Kuonji agreed about his athletic skills, but her Ran-chan was a reasonably ordinary guy, a likable if occasionally insensitive young man who really was quite shy and thoughtful deep down inside. Akane Tendo, when asked what kind of person Ranma was, merely boiled over as she began thinking about his three other fiancees, and eventually wound up chasing the reporter from her room with a mallet. And Xi'an Pu and her great- grandmother Khu Lon stunned him with the pronouncement that Ranma would be competing for the People's Republic of China by the time Salt Lake City rolled around. The journalist decided that most of this information might not set too well with the reading public, and dropped the story entirely.
       
       

        The very first active day of the Games found Ranma splitting his time between the downhill run in the morning and the 5,000-meter speed-skating event in the afternoon. He arrived at the slopes to the news that an Olympic record of 1:45.37 had been set.
        "You've got your work cut out for you, Saotome..."
        "Don't worry about it, Nabiki. I can handle it." The timer in the starting house beeped. It was time to go. Ranma tore out and dug his poles through the snow to start himself down. He then crouched into position, reducing his wind resistance to the barest minimum. The crowds of onlookers cheering Japan's greatest hope were no more than a noisy blur as they passed by him at some seventy miles an hour. He could sense the line approaching and stood himself up ever so slightly. Then he shot past the line, and he snowplowed to a stop, staring at the timer: 1:45.37 exactly.
        A roar went up from the crowd. He had matched the Olympic record. True, he had not won outright, but he had proved himself as good as the best athletes in the world
       
       

        After a somewhat rushed ceremony, Ranma and the others hopped a transport to the speed skating rink. He sighed as he sank into the passenger's seat, relieved that this was going to be the only multiple- event day. As long as he could get through today, everything else should be easy.
        Indeed, once on the ice, Ranma was making this look easy -- after all, it had been a few years since the Golden Pair debacle. He'd had plenty of time to polish his skating skills. And they were impressive; he was leaving his French competitor in his wake. All he was racing against, really, was time.
        "Ladies and gentlemen, it appears from the unofficial results that we have a *tie* for first place. With identical times of six minutes and forty-two point three eight seconds, Thomas Koenig of Belgium and Ranma Saotome of Japan!" As they had at the downhill races, the crowd thundered its approval of its favored son.
        In the stands, Nabiki shook her head in wondering disbelief.
       
       

        That night, the skating rink was filled to capacity as the medals were presented to Ranma and his fellow medalists. Both Ranma and Koenig mounted the platform for first place finishers, while a Korean athlete stepped onto the third-place tier. The crowd rose politely as the band struck up the Belgian national anthem, but with the strains of the Kimigayo, the crowd began to sing along...
        Kimigayo wa chiyo ni...
        There were tears in people's eyes, tears of pride. How long had Japan waited for this moment? Even Ranma could feel the surge of emotion throughout the crowd, and he too joined in the song. *This* was what he had come to do. He would not let his people down. They would hear these strains again, he vowed.
        But only on his terms.
       
       

        His terms, as it so happened, were repeat performances of his first medal ceremony every other night. Oh, there were changes; he never stood alongside the same competitor twice, and there was usually a different anthem that preceded the Kimigayo, but the ceremony always ended with a rendition of the Japanese anthem, and the crowd's singing grew lustier with each repeat performance. As irritated he may have been at being drafted for this, he was glad he came, glad he competed, and as glad to hear the Kimigayo as any other person in that auditorium. By his third ceremony, he'd gotten into the habit of clasping his podium-mate's hand and raising them into the air in a gesture of mutual victory, a gesture that met with approval from both the Japanese and foreign crowds alike.
       
       

        The final speed-skating run was the 10,000 meters, the longest one of all. And as luck would have it, Ranma had been paired against Thomas Koenig: the Belgian who shared the podium with him on the 5,000 meter race. The crowd assembled, knowing this was going to be a good race. There was going to be no *way* for Saotome to tie on this one.
        Not that he wasn't trying. For the first full lap, the two matched each other perfectly, stride for stride. But one of them would be forced to back down for the crossover. Ranma slowed his pace as the rounded the turn into the crossover, and once the maneuver was smoothly accomplished, he merely picked up his pace and caught up with Koenig, once again matching strides as if in a precision drill. One half-expected the two to pull a simultaneous double axel at any given moment.
        Going into the final crossover, Ranma once again gave his competitor the nod. But this time, Ranma was moving into the outside lane. He was putting himself at a distinct disadvantage. If the Belgian went into that final turn leading by any margin, there was going to be no way for Ranma to pull it out of the fire. They went into the turn neck-and-neck. It was going to be Koenig's race to win or lose -- or was it? Despite having to go farther to do so on the turns, Ranma was managing; the two were still neck-and-neck as they came out of the turn. The crowd grew louder. Ranma could win this one outright!
        But it was not to be. After the enormous effort of keeping up on the turn, Ranma settled back into matching the Belgian's every step, identically. They crossed the finish line looking as if they had been welded together. Even the photo finish analysis could not determine the actual victor. Once again, it was announced as a tie, and a new world record of 13:18.56 was to be shared by the two of them.
        Nabiki mopped her brow. To avoid raising to much suspicion among her bookies, she had chosen to merely bet on Ranma to earn gold. This had been way too close. "From now on," she vowed, "I'm gonna put my money on something safer... like junk bonds."
       
       

        And so it went. By this time, the JOC was furious with Ranma for what they considered his refusal to win outright. The medals he earned by tying the marks set on the slalom and giant slalom turned out to be, upon Nabiki's inspection, merely the silver medal dipped in gold paint.
        "Geez, they're too cheap to get 'em electroplated, even?"
        "That, or too pissed off at you, Saotome. That last speed-skating run, you looked like you should have blown Koenig away. I'd lay odds that they'll be accusing you of throwing the matches."
        "What's the matter, Nabiki? I got the gold, for crying out loud. Well..." and he eyed his painted silver medal, "...for all intents and purposes, anyway..."
       
       

        Eight events. Eight ties for first place. Six gold medals and a couple of ersatz golds. And... a summons to appear before the Japanese Olympic Committee:
        "Ranma Saotome, you were not giving it your all! You're a disgrace to Japan, and a disgrace to martial artists everywhere."
        "Wait a minute, wait a minute. Who says I wasn't giving it my all? I sure as hell *was*."
        "Then why didn't you win?"
        "And who ever said winning *takes* my all?" The committee was thrown into confusion. "*Equalling*, now *that* takes my all. Do you realize how hard it is to complete a race in a specific time, down to the hundredth of a second? *That*, gentlemen, was a real challenge. I wasn't sure I could do it.
        "But once I proved I could, the rest were easy. Besides, you'd already gotten into enough trouble trying to accommodate me. I didn't want to dominate the Games or anything. This way, the international community get a gold medalist, and Japan gets one, too. Everybody wins. Of course, if you choose not to see it that way, then I can do nothing to convince you gentlemen. You'll excuse me..." and he left the room.
        A stunned silence filled the room behind him.
       
       

        Thomas Jefferson once stated that "all men are created equal." George Orwell amended that statement: "...but some are more equal than others." Sport, as a rule, has as its object to determine how much more equal some folks are than others. By refusing to play that game, Ranma had effectively alienated the sporting establishment.
        And so everybody from then on left him alone. Which was just the way he wanted it.
        Well, *almost* everyone...
        "Ranma-sama, you were magnificent! Standing up for yourself before that vindictive committee!" "That took some guts to pull off, Ranma honey. I'm proud of you, sugar." "(sigh) Ai ren have much courage. Now can be alone with Shampoo!" "Ranma! What are you doing, encouraging these.. these.. " "Hey, hold on, Akane! I'm not encouraging nobody! Just let me--" "Ranma no hentai!" WHAM!
        Oh, well...
       
       

        Author's notes:

       I'm curious to find out how many of you out here are familiar with Jules Feiffer's "Harold Swerg," the quintessential reluctant athlete. That was sort of the springboard for this story, but as usual, things sorta snowballed -- eh, heh-heh... -- on me. Swerg, of course, is a one-off character for the particular story, a bit of a cypher, really, whereas we all know and love (?) what Ran-chan is like. So I had to adapt the story to fit him (though it worked a bit better than I'd expected), and adapt him somewhat to fit the story. Not sure about the result, but I'd like to think you all've been enjoying it to have gotten this far, so that's really all that matters, ne?
        By the way, now I know why nobody else has tried to fit Ran-chan into the Olympics. This deadline stuff is HARD, lemme tell ya!
        C+C;, as always, can be sent to me at ukyoukwnji@aol.com.

       Itsu mo, Ucchan ^_^
        (who's recovering from a broken ankle: Take my advice, sugar -- NEVER use a spatula as a luge...)