The Problems With Being The Best

By Gabriel Blessing

Disclaimer. Just a view point that popped into my mind. It's based on Ranma 
which doesn't belong to me.


I think I can trace it back to right after the cat fist training. I mean here I 
am, ten, talented and innocent, and there I am thrown into a bit of ravenous 
beasts trying their best to tear me to shreds for the meat that I hold.

"Don't be such a baby, son. You want to be the best don't you?"

Words my dad asked me when he threw me in. You want to be the best. Noble words, 
they are. Nobility doesn't mean much when you're on all fours crying, trying to 
keep the sharp claws away from your eyeballs.  

"Be a man about it. Stop complaining. You want to be the best don't you?"

Noble words. Nobility doesn't mean much to you when you haven't had anything to 
eat in three days, while your dad goes out to get drunk every night.

"Oh, what have I done to deserve such a boy. You want to be the best, don't 
you?"

Over and over again. You want to be the best don't you?  

It was right after the cat fist training that I had an epiphany. I was bleeding 
all over, bandaged and bruised, my throat course from screaming.  

"You didn't even learn the technique! You want to be the best don't you?"

I wanted to be the best, I did. And then it happened. I understood what he 
meant. It seemed inevitable that I would die. Being the best was throwing 
yourself at death. Was trying to kill yourself. I wanted to be the best. I 
wanted to die, because that's what it meant to be the best.

I started training, even harder than before. I threw myself at the art, hoping 
that it would break me. Hoping that I would die. I challenged the best masters, 
holding nothing back against them.

And I won. 

My father grew impressed, though he thought it was his doing.  

"Good job boy! Don't forget to take his money. You want to be the best, don't 
you?"

I didn't know why, but I always won. Every time I crossed fists with a master, 
or someone three times my size, or someone that could snap steel like a twig, I 
prayed that they would be the one. The one to snap me like a twig instead.  

The one to make me the best.

Ten years dragged by in this fashion. Until finally, Jusenkyo happened. And then 
I discovered something else.

I was to good. No one, none of my opponents, were anywhere near what it would 
take to kill me. I had gotten so good that they couldn't even scratch me. I was 
so good, that I couldn't become the best.

And then Nerima came along. And with it, so many chances to be the best. 

Ryouga, with his abominable strength. If he could hit me, just once, head on, 
that could be what it takes. Or maybe his Shi Shi Houkuden.  

Kuno, with his samurai attitude and endless supply or razor sharp bokkens.  
Someday he might hit me with one. Or his sister, Kodachi, with her poisons, 
perhaps.  

Mousse with his endless supply of sharp, pointy objects.

When Ukyou first arrived, that griddle, those spatulas.

Shampoo, with those goofy bonboris, and that high pitched 'me kill you'.

Even my mother, with my curse and that contract.

Akane, with her mallet that can hit me no matter how good I am. I anger her 
constantly, hoping each time that when the strike comes, that will be the one to 
make me the best. Her cooking likewise. If anything could do me in, that would 
be my best bet.

But...

No matter what they throw at me, I'm still to good.

I defeated Pantyhose, both human and monster, weren't good enough to make me the 
best. Cologne and Happosai are nothing to me. Herb, with the blood of the 
dragons, wasn't enough either.

Which brings me to my current predicament.

The Akane doll, the end product of Saffron's rage lays cradled in my hand.  
Around me the others give me nervous looks, apparently interrupting my stunned 
silence as remorse or sorrow. It isn't either. 

It's joy, and a desperate anticipation.  

Saffron is a god. He is powerful. He is immortal.

Please, let me do it this time. Let me prove that I am the best....



Author's note. There. It's not a series, and its not a crossover, but it was in 
my head, so I got it out. If you like it, that's just great. If you don't...
Who gives a shit? Certainly not me. It's your own bloody fault for wasting your 
life in front of a goofy little computer screen and looking at the mindless 
drivel that some equally pathetic loser threw together. Have a nice day