Ranko sighed nervously, shouldering her silver Yusue High cheerleading gym bag over the padded shoulder of her forest green business suit. Her matching green heels clacked severely on the linoleum floor of the empty atrium she strode across. She winced as her eyes found a cheap analog clock mounted high above the double door, shaking it off as she pulled the door open. Shit. A minute late, but hopefully they’re not sticklers for that sort of thing.
Crammed into one corner of the gym, a pair of long folding tables covered with green tablecloths were butted end-to-end with six men seated at them. Two were in dress shirts and ties, one wore a blue polo shirt, two wore athletic-fit tee shirts and the last was in a black gi. Her eyes kept falling back on the man in the polo shirt. Where do I know that dude from? Is he a regular at the Phoenix?
I definitely overdressed, Ranko fretted as she took one of the empty white plastic folding chairs facing the dais. There were maybe a dozen other people in the seats, though there were chairs enough for nearly fifty.
“Calling this meeting of the Honshu Mixed-Style Martial Arts Tournament board of directors to order,” the balding man on the far left said, banging on the table a little too hard with his little wooden hammer and nearly spilling the glass of water on the table in front of the gi-clad man to his right. “For our first order of business, with the tournament now just three months away, we will need to finalize the dojo roster tonight so we can begin contacting the senseis about the rules and participants.”
“To that end,” a young blond man in a tee shirt advertising an aikido dojo said, leaning forward into his tabletop microphone. “We currently have fifteen registered dojos representing a dozen martial arts including aikido, kempo, muay thai, capoeira, jiu jitsu, jeet kune do, kendo, kung fu, tai chi, judo, taekwondo, and karate. So, we’re thinking it’s going to be a pretty well-rounded tournament this year!”
“Yes,” the balding man said, “we’re excited about it for sure. We think it will provide excellent exposure for all of our competing clubs and dojos this year.” That guy must be in charge, Ranko thought. “Did we get any last-minute applications to round out the entrants to an even sixteen, Sensei Yanda?”
The blond man nodded sadly. “One, but we weren’t able to accept it because the art wasn’t on the approved list.” He looked down at his notes. “Anything-Goes Martial Arts? Never heard of it, personally. You guys?”
Ranko swallowed hard, fidgeting in her seat as four of the five other men on the dais shook their heads, but the man in the polo shirt raised his hand. “Yeah, I’ve heard of it, once. About two years ago, some crazy girl came into my dojo and challenged me to try and show it off. I wiped the floor with her, and haven’t heard about it since.”
Fuck! That’s where I know him! He’s the sensei from that place across the street from the Phoenix!
“Well, then if we don’t think the style can be competitive, I suppose we will have no choice to deny the application,” the president said, and he lifted his gavel again. Before it could strike the table, Ranko took a deep breath and stood.
“Excuse me, please?” She took a step into the aisle, walking forward from her place in the third row down the center aisle so that she could be seen.
“Wait, is that…” The sensei in the polo shirt sat up in his chair, and Ranko looked down at her hands. She was still more than a little ashamed at the way he’d defeated her, even though she’d been at a significant disadvantage at the time owing to far more than the Full-Body Cat’s Tongue.
Ranko nodded weakly. “Yes. I did fight you a few years ago, but it wasn’t a challenge. I just wanted a job.”
“And now you want into the tournament, after the beating you took? Aren’t you worried you’re just going to embarrass yourself?” Again. The ogre of a man smirked, proud of himself as he leaned back in his chair.
Ranko swallowed hard again. She'd prepared for this possibility, but the chance she’d have to come face-to-face with that particular person was not something she’d considered. “With respect, sir, when we fought, you restricted me to using kempo moves. Anything-Goes Martial Arts is about blending dozens of styles together - including every style represented in the tournament and more - to maximize strengths and minimize weaknesses. Asking me to use kempo only was like telling a songwriter she’s only allowed to use one note.”
Also, you were fighting a girl half your size, with the Full-Body Cat’s Tongue curse, who hadn’t eaten or slept in three days. Keep patting yourself on the back, there, buddy.
“I’d be happy to give you and the board a demonstration, and I would greatly appreciate it if you’d give me that chance before disqualifying my dojo.”
The aikido sensei nodded. “I think it’s a perfectly reasonable idea. After we’re finished with the rest of the meeting, then? What do you all say?” His question received nods from four of the other board members.
“We don’t do kata here in the tournament. You’ll have to prove you can actually fight,” the kempo sensei said as he cracked his knuckles.
“I’ll be ready,” Ranko said, bending down and picking up her gym bag.
Okay, Ranko. You can do this. Don’t let him get in your head. Last time, you were fighting for something to eat. This time? It’s for Akane’s dojo. For her honor. Way more important.
Ranko set her silver gym bag, now containing her heels and the green skirt suit and cream-colored silk blouse she’d worn to the meeting, off near the bleachers of the high school gymnasium where the meeting had been held. She padded to the center of the cavernous gym on bare feet in her purple student-instructor gi, her hair pulled back in a black ribbon to match the cloth belt around her waist, and began hopping on her toes to loosen up. Honestly, in a basketball gym like this? I should have just worn my cheerleading uniform; I’d have felt right at home, she thought with a blush. And it really would have gotten his goat, too.
The chairs for the board meeting’s attendees had been removed save those on the dais, and Ranko watched as five of the board members retook their seats after a few minutes to refresh their drinking water and have a break when the meeting ended. The kempo sensei had not returned; Ranko assumed he had gone to change into a gi of his own.
She issued a deep, formal bow to the five remaining board members. Even if he decides to be a jerk, I just have to put on a good enough show to get the rest of their votes. I doubt it has to be unanimous. “Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to demonstrate my art, everyone.”
“To claim to have mastered elements of all of these styles…” An older man in a coral dress shirt and a maroon tie adjusted his glasses as he read over her application form. Ranko had needed to write on the back of it; she’d run out of room on the form to list over thirty martial arts that she knew at least one move from, not counting specialty techniques like the Cat Fist and the Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire maneuver. “How long have you been studying?”
“Almost seventeen years,” Ranko said as she lifted her right leg toward the ceiling, stretching her hamstring as she supported it with her hands. “We pull in techniques from everywhere we can find inspiration - various martial arts, dance, acupressure, all of it.”
Joto Watanado, the board’s president and master of the Watanado Kung Fu Academy of Ginza, gave an impressed little hmm in response. “And you say this style has been around for a while? Our policy requires two generations of instruction, at minimum, for a style to qualify.”
Ranko nodded, throwing a kick at the air as she continued to loosen up. “The style was originated by Master Happosai…” She swallowed back bile at the mention of the old lecher’s name. “He taught it to two students, one of whom was my father.” And the other was some jerk named Genma Saotome, Ranko thought with a sneer, thinking back to her surprise adoption by Akane’s family on her wedding day. “We learned from him, and in addition to my father’s dojo in Nerima, now my… sister… teaches classes on the Minato University campus.” Man, it feels weird as hell to say that, but somehow, I think waving the gay flag in here today ain’t gonna help my chances too much. “I included a letter from our father in the application packet, where he explains the whole history.”
A dark-skinned member of the board with jet black hair spoke, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I have to tell you, I’m skeptical of all of this. Most of us trained for decades to master one style; to see someone so young claim to practice so many…”
Ranko nodded at the man’s tee shirt and the logo for his school. “No, I get the skepticism. You do capoeira, right?”
Getting a nod in reply, Ranko smiled hopefully. “Okay. It’s been a minute. Let me see if I remember this.” She bent her knees in an almost crouch, beginning to move fluidly in the beginning of the basic ginga dance that formed the backbone of capoeira’s ever-in-motion style. Because the Brazilian style was so heavily dance-focused, it was hard without music, and Ranko blushed a bit as she realized she was mentally backing her movements with the most ass-kicking song she could think of: a popular rap track called Not Yours, Don’t Touch. She launched a chapa de costas kick behind herself before spinning into a lower gancho de costas.
“Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch,” the South American master emoted.
Ranko grinned proudly. That’s one vote down. She straightened to a standing position and turned to the heavyset, aging man to his immediate left. “Taekwondo, yeah?” Without waiting for a response, she lifted her left leg from the rubber gym floor and hung her foot at the level of her right knee, extending her left arm diagonally away from her body as her right elbow cocked over her head, beginning the kuemgang form. It was a form she would never forget; she’d taken it while perched atop a bamboo pole sticking out of a remote little Chinese spring, seconds before a panda had tackled her from it and changed her life forever.
Ranko took two spinning steps forward, thrusting her elbow in front of herself. She tried not to smile too brightly as she overheard the taekwondo sensei mutter “this girl is impressive” under his breath to the aikido instructor to his left.
So it went down the line, until Ranko’s Southern Tiger kung fu demonstration was interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing, and she turned to face the mountain of a kempo sensei that was to be her opponent. He wore the same blue gi he’d had on that day, and Ranko shook her head forcefully to evict the memories of her last encounter with him from her mind. She was already confident her demonstrations had won her at least four votes, but that almost didn’t matter. As far back as she could recall, Akio Fukui was the only person she’d ever fought that she hadn’t beaten at least once. That needed to change.
“Okay,” the board president began. “Let’s keep this to tournament rules. No strikes at the knee or groin. Torso and head strikes score a point. First to three points wins.”
Ranko nodded, bowing to the giant man in the blue gi. His return bow was short and quick, almost dismissive in nature.
Okay, jerk much? Wanna play that way? Alright, buddy.
Ranko rose from her bow and extended her fists forward, her right in front of her left as she planted her feet in an inverted jeet kune do stance modified for her left-handedness.
Sensei Fukui dropped wordlessly into an aggressive aiki gamae kempo stance, his left arm extended over his left foot as his right hand hung at eye level ready to strike. “Ladies first,” the sensei said derisively.
Chivalry, huh? Didn’t expect that. Ranko nodded. Since the Cat’s Tongue, she generally preferred to wait for her opponent to strike and react to it, but she didn’t want to seem cowed by him, so she accepted his invitation. She launched out of her jeet kune do stance into a misdirected jiu jitsu crescent kick, aimed high at his right shoulder. The strike could not have scored if it hit, but her goal hadn’t been to land it. Her opponent raised his right forearm to block the kick. As he did, Ranko hooked her ankle around his wrist and threw his blocking arm out of the way before whipping around under his arm to throw a karate empi-uchi elbow strike into his exposed stomach. Her beribboned red ponytail struck his chest before her arm did.
“Point!” The capoeira instructor stood, walking around the long folding table and stepping between the combatants to serve as a referee. “One-zero, Tendo.”
She’s certainly quicker than she was the last time I fought her, the sensei thought as he retook his ready position.
“Fight!” came the instruction from the capoeira master, and this time Ranko stood back awaiting the large man’s advance. She ducked under his roundhouse kick, hearing his gi pants whoosh over her head as she crouched. She cocked her fist to strike at his leg, remembering the rule about strikes to the knee at the last possible moment. Choosing to wait for another opportunity, she rose as his leg passed, but her opponent whirled immediately into a followup kick, striking at eye level.
Nice.
Ranko stepped inward from the side around his leg, lifting her leg and striking with her hip against his standing leg in a muay thai sweep that felled Sensei Fukui to the ground. She dropped with him, executing another elbow strike straight from hung gar kung fu to the prone man’s stomach that earned her a nod from the board president.
“Point! Two-zero, Tendo!”
Ranko stood up, offering a hand up to her opponent. Wouldn’t hurt to have his vote, too, she thought. He did not take her hand, but he nodded in acknowledgement of her sportsmanship after kick-flipping to his feet.
Okay. He’s down two points, so he’s gonna want to be aggressive. Time to utilize that. Ranko smiled, dropping into a hidari hanmi aikido stance with her left foot forward, giving her more space to throw to her opponent’s right, where the right-handed fighter would be more likely to commit his momentum.
“Fight!”
Ranko immediately prepared to receive the sensei’s charge, and he rushed forward with a fist cocked just as she predicted. She planted her feet, reaching for his wrist, but he held his punch back, and her overcommitted reach gave him the opportunity to get in close. He brought his left hand forward in a hook punch that struck her hard on the cheek, sending her sprawling to the rubber floor.
“Point! Two-one, Tendo!”
Ranko groaned, clamoring to her hands and knees. Fuck, I forgot how hard this guy hits. Her face felt like it had been run over with a steamroller, and she crumpled back to the floor on her side, covering her face with both of her hands. Maybe I’ve done enough to convince them and I can tap out.
When she uncovered her eyes and saw her opponent’s satisfied sneer, the thought faded from her mind. No. I can’t lose to him again. I won’t. Slowly, with a loud groan, she staggered to her feet and adopted a left-handed judo stance.
“Are you sure you can continue,” the capoeira instructor-turned-referee asked, and Ranko nodded, refraining from speaking to avoid betraying that her teeth were still clenched in pain.
“Alright, if you’re sure. Fight!”
The sensei in the blue gi charged again, watching her for any signs of a throw after her attempt in the previous clinch. Ranko threw a taekwondo front snap kick to try and halt his momentum, but he swatted her leg aside and pushed her backward. She turned to face the floor as she fell, placing both of her hands on the rubber floor. She could hear him closing, and she threw her right leg up in a wide crescent, arching her back and neck upward with it gracefully. Her foot caught her opponent in the chest as he closed, and while it wasn’t a particularly forceful kick, it didn’t need to be - contact was all that was required to score.
“Point! Tendo, winner!”
Ranko clapped victoriously, bowing to her defeated opponent.
“Not bad, kid,” Sensei Fukui said, rubbing his sore stomach after returning her bow, more respectfully this time. “Really. Not bad at all. The number of styles you use really is impressive, and I’m more than convinced. But I gotta ask, where’d you learn that last kick? Never seen it before.”
Ranko blushed behind the redness of her cheek from his punch, shouldering her silver Yusue High Cheerleading gym duffel. “Kanzawa School of Ballet.”
