Chapter Text
It was a sweltering summer night in Tokyo, and for once Ranma was glad to be wearing clothing that left so little to the imagination, even with the throngs of teenagers and young adults ogling her. Affecting a flirty smile, she twiddled her fingers and blew a kiss at a group of college boys waving signs with caricatures of her head adorned with hearts and proclamations of love who cheered, whistled, and (in one case) screamed and flailed before foaming at the mouth and falling over.
Her weekly gig always began with a foot race to the starting line while beating her competitors using techniques perfected for anything goes martial arts cheerleading, seizing the green flag to be the official flag girl for the premier bout, then racing across the ward for the checkered flag at the finish line. The second part was honestly a lot more fun since it usually involved hitching a ride on the backs of the motorcyclists whose own races often coincided with that of the cars, and it was more evenly matched since the other flag girls clearly trained more for the dangerous second half of the event. Plus, the purse for it was better, and the winners of both almost always went out on the town to celebrate. After a spectacular near loss on her first try, she’d been undefeated for the past nine weeks once she’d gotten the hang of things. It didn’t hurt that she seemed to be building a rapport with one of the newer motorcyclists whose acrobatic riding technique was uniquely suited to her own martial style.
Her ears quirked at a familiar high pitched rev. There she was now - none of the bike jockeys were ever particularly shapely in their armor, but the rider in a red racing suit trimmed in gold atop an orange and black bike was unmistakably both well muscled and extremely female as she pulled up to the gathering. She waved, but her ally paused only long enough to hand a paper bag to one of the onlookers in exchange for a fistful of yen before wheelieing into a u-turn then ramping up and over a dumpster rather than negotiating her way through the crowd that closed ranks after she’d arrived. The smell of lo mein mixed with engine exhaust reached her nose and her mouth watered. There wasn’t time to ponder the feeling of familiarity before Ranma’s attention was dragged back to the present.
“I’m not going to let you take the checkered flag this time, you bun-haired bimbo,” came a sneer from behind her. “This time, the Faerie is taking me out to dinner,” finished her challenger, an older girl with a pixie-cut wearing stark black and white at the head of a cluster of other competitors who were all glaring daggers at her.
“Only if he doesn’t win, Panda-chan!” Ranma replied, punctuating her rebuke with a saucy wink and a toothy grin with her tongue out that made the cluster of fanboys hoot and scream again. The same unfortunate lad who had only just climbed to his feet was once again rendered insensate by his own exuberance.
White and black was joined by red all over as the taller girl scowled furiously. “It’s Maiko, not Panda-chan! Ugh, just you wait, I’ve got a brand new strategy that’s gonna leave you smeared on the asphalt!” She turned and stormed off in the direction of the starting line for the weekly Mixed Martial Arts Flag Girl Battle before she could respond to the mocking faces Ranma was pulling at her.
Not sparing her or the others another look, Ranma hopped up and hooked her feet on a light pole to peer out over the crowds into the racecar paddock. Most of the other racers were already here, but there was one in particular she was looking forward to who hadn’t arrived yet. Her disappointment was momentary, as a throaty growl punctuated by the warbly trill of a turbo blowoff heralded the arrival of the Great Faerie of Furinkan.
The car was a white Nissan Fairlady Z, sporting the elegant lines of the previous decade but sounding anything but old. Rumor had it the driver always did his prep just off site so as to not give away any secrets either under the hood or the omnipresent helmet. The only quirk that spoiled - or enhanced, depending on who was observing - its classic look was the rainbow of sparkly stickers across its white body. Instantly she launched herself from her perch, shooting her fanclub a peace sign from above before she came to land on the fence. She waved and blew kisses along with the other girls who were swarming to the fore as the driver in a white racing suit and helmet got out and gave a polite wave.
Ranma’s heart fluttered in her chest just like it did every time she saw him. Over the summer, her feelings had evolved from “extremely disturbed” at the first time it happened, with a subsequent backslide into anxious performative masculinity. Increasingly comfortable with her newfound femininity, now she only hoped her will would hold out long enough to ask him for a real date. Their post-race victory meal was great and all, but - again - the helmet never came off enough to see the full face of the first man she was actually attracted to. Annoyingly, the face guard hinged up to leave his mouth exposed, but he always kept the retractable sun visor down to hide his eyes. Tonight was going to be different, though. She was going to get that helmet all the way off, gaze up into his beautiful eyes as he scooped her up, and then…
Someone blew an airhorn, signalling that it was time for competitors to take their places for the Flag Girl Battle that heralded the start of the nightly races. She wiped away the trickle of drool from the corner of her mouth in a gesture that could only have been better synchronized with the other women at the paddock fence if they’d practiced, then began bounding from fencepost to fencepost on the way to her starting point. Behind, she heard the first of the engines come alive.
The racer in white watched Ranma leave with a smile behind their black tinted visor. The martial artist “disguised” in green and silver lamé spandex seemed to be living her best life as she flirted and sassed with the best of them. They weren't the thespian that their youngest sister was, but pretending to be the mysterious racer that swept the busty flag girl off her feet after each of their joint victories was a fun game they were happy to share with Akane’s fiancée. The fact that the young martial artist was levels above her competition meant that they didn’t have to worry about potentially disappointing someone who wasn’t already in on their identity as the Great Faerie of Furinkan, which had been a problem in previous circuits. While they weren't sure where the moniker came from, it was the cherry atop the street racing parfait that Faerie found so diverting.
They tugged the bottom of their jacket to seat it more firmly on their shoulders, keeping the lines more androgynous. It was definitely an upgrade to the halloween costume they’d worn at the start of their racing career a few years ago, and far more protective. Not that Faerie’s driving technique lent much to danger, but it was armor nonetheless. The suit bulked out their figure, allowing them to leave behind the societal expectations of femininity they had been feeling more and more trapped by as time went on.
Faerie turned to glance over the assembled racers as they and their teams started warming up their vehicles. Here was the upgunned Honda NSX in its lovely gold flake whose driver was an equally pretty if awkwardly aggressive young lady who had recently moved up from go-cart racing; there was the white RX7 with its ever-calculating young driver who had made a name for himself in Gunma. The other four were familiar in that they were part of the local racing scene, but hadn’t made an impression beyond being far too young for her in mind if not in body.
This was the race in Northern Tokyo and, thanks to the same sort of weird occurrences and strange people that had troubled Faerie’s family, police response was limited to arresting those who crashed badly enough to wreck their vehicles. It created a self-selecting environment as a result, so only those nimble enough to drive on Nerima’s streets while avoiding property damage could manage to compete. Gossip had it that the police also had a financial incentive to cut the racers slack, but Faerie preferred not to engage in such uncouth speculation.
The driver of the NSX approached, shoulders rigid. “Hey Fairie, new stickers again?” Faerie nodded, crossing their arms just to have something to do with them even though the posture would probably be seen as more defiant than they meant it to be. Rinko-san’s pixie cut was even shorter than it had been when they first met at an amusement park more than a year ago, and she’d frosted a streak leading back from her left eye that surely looked striking when it had product in it rather than being crammed into a three quarters helmet.
“Well, I’ll make you put one of mine on after I win tonight, and you won’t be taking it off any time soon!” she declared. Faerie nodded, then drew a circle on an empty part of their front right fairing while giving her an encouraging thumbs up. Rinko’s cheeks pinked visibly even under the yellow as she flexed her fists up from her sides, seeming as unsure as she ever was when receiving positive feedback. The girl reminded them a lot of Akane in that regard. “W-well, anyway, good luck, see you out there!” she stammered before hustling off to nimbly slide through the driver’s side window of her vehicle.
A short, prematurely balding young man passed her as he jogged up to her car, and this time Faerie flipped the tinted visor of their helmet up. “Mi-kun, you up for leading the pack off the line tonight?” he asked in a voice that was only loud enough to reach over the nearby cars.
“Oh, I wouldn’t presume to disadvantage the other drivers like that,” they answered politely. “I’d prefer to start at the rear if that’s alright with you, Wada-sempai.” He rolled his eyes in response, then smirked knowingly.
“We’ve both been out of high school this long and you still won’t drop the sempai bit. So, one of those nights, huh? Well, don’t be too harsh on the others getting your stress out on the pavement. They’ve got to at least think they have a chance if they’re going to keep coming back,” he teased.
They shook their head with a hand on their chest. “I would never be so crass. They are all working very hard to improve, and I would never discourage them like that,” they said with a hint of reproach. Wada chuckled and shrugged.
“Alright, I’ll set up the pins for you to knock down,” said Wada-sempai as he turned with a wave. “Have a relaxing drive, Mi-kun.” They waved back even though he was already moving from car to car, informing the other six drivers of their starting positions.
Faerie spared a moment to throw a jaunty two-fingered salute at the cluster of women by the paddock fence, then got back into the car and fastened their new five point harness that their sponsor had insisted on installing along with the bucket seat. Not a minute passed before they pulled out of the parking spot and followed the other drivers to the starting line.
They cast a discerning eye over her console. Oil pressure, temperature gauges, fuel level all just as good as when they warmed up in Ono-sensei’s garage. It was so nice of him to sponsor them in exchange for having them as the driver for his mobile clinic van, even if that was largely just a matter of storage for their mother’s old Fairlady at this point. The victory purses from just this summer alone had been more than enough to cover their costs for the rest of the season.
A commotion reached into her cabin as the first half of the MMA Flag Girl Battle wrapped with the expected result. Ranma appeared next to the front of the Fairlady, blew them a kiss, then pirouetted down the lane between the racers before doing a twirling flip while wielding the green flag in what had become her signature starting move. Seven engines roared in unison, three bouncing off their rev limiters as their tires broke traction, and the race was on.
Scarcely a kilometer away, a motorcyclist in red and gold tossed a quick fill gas can into the catch cage, slapped the tank cap shut, and launched into a low wheelie in one smooth motion. 「 Fuck!」spat the rider in Mandarin. Lifting off like that meant that Shan Pu had grabbed just a hair too much throttle as she launched from the pit, and the Austrian-Chinese prototype threatened to buck like a poorly broken young stallion. Reluctantly, she brushed the rear brake while rolling her right wrist back almost imperceptibly, and the front wheel came back down to the alley concrete with only the faintest thump.
Capitalizing on her imperfect acceleration, a green Kawasaki swiftly closed on her left flank as soon as they turned out of the alley, its blue and white armored rider emblazoned with Izakaya Moriya’s snake and frog logo on their helmet. It had been hounding her this entire battle, both having had drop-off zones for their deliveries in roughly the same neighbourhoods on their runs. The riders were closely matched in riding skill, and the only reason Shan Pu had kept ahead was that she was better when it came to using the bike as a weapon. Even so, she’d only been able to momentarily delay the other rider in their clashes thus far.
The bike bounced against its rev limiter for an instant as she ramped up and off a yatai’s roof, bypassing the bridge traffic. Her rear shock almost bottomed out with the landing, briefly unweighting the back tire on the rebound. She grabbed more throttle, breaking its traction intentionally to keep from being flung over the bars. The emergency maneuver was fortuitous, allowing her to duck beneath a kei truck’s oversize payload as it crossed against the light. A stuttering shriek of rubber on asphalt told her the other delivery battler had been less fortunate. Shan Pu spared a glance at her rearview mirror and, not seeing the Moriya biker, concluded they had been forced to divert. She twisted her wrist and the two stroke engine roared beneath her like a swarm of angry giant hornets.
The last segment of the Super Motard Dinner Delivery Tournament route was an all-out sprint across Nerima, and it was always simultaneously the most dangerous and the most fun. Once again, she and her bike were airborne as she launched from a car park roof, sailing over the crowd below. She landed sideways on a roof on the opposite end of the intersection, skid plate grinding on the lip of the building before yanking the bike straight as she ran out of edge. This left her perfectly aimed for a fire escape with permanently lowered stairs, and in the blink of an eye her tires were on pavement again.
Half a block later her rear dipped unexpectedly, and without needing to look she knew she had picked up a hitchhiker. This was the twist for the final part of the bout - it intersected not with one, but two separate races, and went in mostly the same route as the ones allegedly on foot. The participants of the latter were practically expected to hitch rides on passing vehicles while fighting their way to the finish line, and there was no faster way to get through Nerima than on the pillion seat of a motorcycle.
Her new passenger was undoubtedly the same as the last two nights; she had a glimpse of bare legs and metallic silver and green shorts in her mirror, but the route was too technical here to spare a glance backwards for confirmation. It was really a pity as she could feel the girl’s strong warrior spirit, and Shan Pu would have loved to take her for a ride under different circumstances. This wasn’t the time to pick up a date though, as the presence of her passenger meant others couldn’t be far behind. She could feel the other shift her stance and glanced in the rearview mirror to see a trio of white, blue, and red Hondas just as the screams of their high revving engines punched through her helmet.
The trio easily caught up with them, and their passengers stood up on the pillion seats and assumed fighting stances. Shooting quick glances over either shoulder as she maneuvered down the residential street let her ally parry and dodge the chain and baseball bat strikes of two of them while adding just that much more force to her counterattacks. It was curious that the girl behind her didn’t ever seem to bring a weapon of her own, but she seemed more than adept at disarming those that did, even bare handed. Shan Pu flicked the bike sideways just enough to spook the third biker into driving onto a concrete fence, then vanishing from sight as they went tumbling into someone’s garden. She spared a glance to smirk backwards, only briefly catching sight of her black haired partner’s alarmed face before whipping her head back forward.
A truck had pulled out across the road ahead. She felt rather than saw the other motorcycles divert. Shan Pu grabbed the front brake as sharply as she could and the rear of the bike rose like a catapult, flinging her passenger skyward. Just as suddenly she let off the brake, driving the back wheel down just in time for her to yank the bike parallel and overbalance away from the truck. Sparks flew from her pegs and frame sliders as she shot underneath, only for her to whip the bike upright with a screech of rubber and no small amount of core strength. The rear suspension sagged a moment later as her passenger landed just as she hoped she would. It was criminal that such a talented girl hadn’t been born in the Village.
She leaned in close and yelled loudly enough Shan Pu could hear despite her helmet and earplugs. “Nice throw! They won’t catch up soon. Hey, take that turn up there and we’ll cut through the park along the pond!”
The white Fairlady hurtled around a corner at the head of a pack, followed closely by the white RX7 and the gold NSX, then less closely by a scant handful of other cars. Faerie spotted the upcoming turn for the road transecting Shakujii Park and downshifted, blowoff valve warbling as the turbo lagged behind the deceleration. Stomping the accelerator broke traction and threw them into the sharp turn that carried them south.
After straightening out, they were pleasantly surprised to see Ranma riding pillion on a motorcycle whose rider could only be Shampoo based on the way they were running on the top of the concrete barriers that lined the street. Faerie nodded in approval as the two launched over the hood of the Fairlady, engine trilling as it bounced against the rev limiter. After they passed and began initiating the turn that would carry them east along the southern edge of the park, the helmeted driver realized that Ranma had been blowing a kiss as they passed. “Oh my, she’s playful tonight,” they mused aloud.
“Faerie, ten nine?” crackled Ono-sensei’s voice over the radio speaker in her helmet, asking for a repeat of the message. Faerie stomped the accelerator and brake as they seamlessly rev-matched for the downshift, then roared out of the turn.
“Office, hot mic,” they said in response. The Fairlady leapt over a small crest in the road left by a road crew’s grader, unweighting the suspension as it dropped before nearly bottoming out. A cursory glance in the rearview mirror furrowed Faerie’s eyebrows. The NSX made the hump followed closely by the RX7, but the blue XT behind it didn’t fare so well. “Check that, Office, ten forty two,” Faerie intoned as the Subaru landed cocked and swerved into a neighbourhood trash pickup site, scattering burnables across the street. Red lights flashed from far behind as Tokyo police pounced on the crashed car and its unfortunate driver.
By Faerie’s estimate, they had at least a ten second lead on the cars duelling behind the Fairlady, a gap that was likely to grow after the series of deep chicanes that lead into a hairpin that was tonight’s adjustment to the route - the Furinkan Serpent. It was also the last truly technical set of turns before a long sprint, which was where Faerie’s secret weapon would truly shine - a high revving twin-turbo engine that her unofficial sponsor had received as payment for curing an American racer of a neurological condition through a combination of shiatsu and moxibustion. It had been an adventure to install it in the Fairlady, requiring a crash course in gas tungsten arc welding that Faerie had found quite enjoyable even if it had made Ono-sensei quite nervous.
The mouth of the Furinkan Serpent yawned. Faerie’s feet stomped arrhythmically as they shifted up and down, lunging forward in the brief moments between turns through a neighbourhood recently devastated by a particularly ferocious martial arts brawl before slowing to slide into the next curve. With some consternation Faerie noticed a squish in their center pedal. Fortunately, the next turn was the last, and the brakes would finally have a chance to cool. Less fortunately, they had just upgraded the calipers and pads. Ono-sensei had seemed distracted by the end; Faerie appreciated their boss and friend for his support in their evening pastime, but his condition could be frustrating if they happened to be too personable while in his presence.
The Fairlady was practically sideways in the hairpin as its driver was treated to a spectacle they could only barely spare the attention to notice. Ranma was clinging to the horizontal bar of a streetlight, legs hooked under the arms of Shampoo who in turn was clutching the passenger pegs of her motorcycle with her ankles as they pinwheeled, delivering a devastating rear-wheel-to-the-chin of a giant pompadour’d man in a leisure suit that sent him airborne, tetsubo, foreign motorcycle, and all.
Faerie couldn’t spare a glance to see the finish as they firewalled the gas pedal. The RX7 managed to pass the NSX in the hairpin and had surprisingly closed the gap by at least half. The young man driving it was every bit the rising star rumour had him pegged for but, now that they were on the final arcing sprint, they knew he simply didn’t have the displacement in his rotors to catch up in time. The only thing that could pose a problem from here was traffic, and there seemed to be little to none.
It was always a bit of a puzzle to Faerie how the flag girl battlers managed not only to reach the finish line before the cars did but to have a full on brawl at the end, motorcycle assists or no. Regardless, there was Ranma making cheerleader-esque high kicks while twirling the flag like a bo staff. As the Fairlady screamed past, Faerie grinned as they imagined her exultant cries as the young martial artist executed a twirling backflip while furiously waving the checkered flag.
As they pulled the Fairlady into its space in the pit, Faerie could already see the fast-approaching green and silver blur rocketing over the heads of the crowd already swarming the dividing wall. With an urgency that surprised even themselves, they were unbuckled and climbing out of their car before the engine had even fully stopped. Quickly, Faerie flicked down their sun shades and lifted the chin guard in one smooth motion to get a breath of fresh and relatively cool night air compared to the hot blast that had been coming from the Fairlady’s vents, then braced themselves. Ranma all but tackled them in a flying hug, and only their early training in the family school let them redirect her momentum into a spin.
“You won! You did it, you won! I’m so happy, Faerie!” she cried, grinning ear to ear. In the heat of the moment, Faerie was about to respond in kind, but their mouth was suddenly occupied with a pair of lips that tasted like sweetened yuzu. From the corner of their eye, Faerie could see Rinko-san staring gape-mouthed in shock and disappointment, having just gotten out of her NSX. A girl in a panda-pattern outfit at the head of a group of other flag girl battlers stomped her foot repeatedly in frustration. Their mind went blank.
“Oh my,” thought Kasumi in shock.