Adult-FanFiction.org : Anime

No Need for Masculinity	By : Richard_Priapi Category: +S to Z > Tenchi Muyo Views: 501 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the various Tenchi Muyo properties, nor any of the characters herein who may be found within that canon. Originally posted to AO3, I'll be posting more proofread/edited versions of the chapters here.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
The first day of school was a magical thing. This is a sentiment shared by neither students nor their instructors, each dreading their own onslaught of hurdles across the mad race to the finish. For a certain Okayama country girl, however, it was the unequivocal truth. She tried to march in with her head down, eyes on the road like the others- it was the socially safe way to behave. But her shadow in the morning sun made her skirt look so deliciously swishy, so as her springy step carried her across through the gate onto school grounds, she spun, pleats sailing. Several eyes found themselves measuring her discreetly.
“Who’s the new chick?”
“Man, I don’t know. Do you think she knows she just flashed her panties for like, half the school?”
“Dude, shut up- if she hears you she won’t do it again! Bro, I need this.”
--
She pulled up a seat in her homeroom; her teacher’s deep tan, wrinkled shirt, and loose tie said that he was still recovering from his own farewell to summer. Mr. Sakamoto was infamous for his laid-back classroom- follow simple expectations, and he was a genuine delight. Still, Tenchi frowned. From the way Mr. Sakamoto kept finding reasons to avoid her eyes, it was clear he had checked his roster and recognized her name. Tenchi had been his best student last year, after all. She swallowed her wave of disappointment and fixed a bland, plastic expression to her face.
“Ey, teach! It looks like we have a new student in class. You planning on introducing her, or what?”
Now he was looking at her. They met each other’ eyes helplessly, each pleading without words. His head snapped to the boy who had spoken.
“No.”
“Come on-“
“She can introduce herself if she wants. If she does not, I recommend you meet her on your own time. Judging by you chosen grammar, Takayama, you have a dire need of every minute of our classes today.”
Muffled laughter rippled through the room. Friends seated next to Takayama whispered potshots at him, confident he wouldn’t respond and risk more attention. The teacher strode to the blackboard with all the confidence of a ship’s captain taking the helm.
“Now, for those of you intending to pursue college next year, our first unit will be of paramount value. Please open your textbook to page 69- and not a word about that, either.”
Takayama choked on the “Nice” he had been about to call out.

The green-eyed raven-haired girl sitting next to Tenchi waited until the teacher was busy correcting another student’s work to lean over to her.
“Hi there! My name’s Sakuya Kumashiro!”
I know who you are, Tenchi thought guiltily, We had the same teacher last year.
“I just love your hair. Twinsies, am I right?”
Aaand I ripped off your haircut, she added. She twirled a pencil in her hand and dropped it- its soft clatter rattled in her skull like a taiko drum. Tenchi’s nervous laugh poked a hole in Sakuya’s perception filter.
“You know, there was a boy here last year who laughed like that. Are you two related?”
Tenchi’s hands juggled the thought.
“Yep, very closely.”
“Kumashiro, something the matter?” The teacher droned.
Sakuya clapped her hands together and flashed him a smile that was all teeth.
“Nope! Just borrowing an eraser from…” she leaned over once more. In frame-by-frame slow motion, Tenchi watched her read the name printed neatly at the top of her worksheet. Too late she moved to cover it with manicured and painted nails.
“Tenchi-chan here.”
The classroom erupted into a chorus of shock. Suddenly everyone had a question or an opinion. Conflicted erections wilted or sprouted, and all the boys who had been admiring Tenchi’s calves in her knee-high socks were grateful either way to be sitting down.
Mr. Sakumoto turned forlorn eyes to her and raised his hands in an apologetic, defeated shrug. He’d been hoping to push this conversation off at least until his hangover wore off. Ah, well.
--
Kiyone breathed in the sharp smells of liquor, ozone and steel, letting each oxygenated breath still her beating heart. No matter what benefits came with a desk job, they could never replace the raw electric thrill of danger present in field work. Each breath came double-duty to keep her wits sharpened. She shifted her coat to cover the pistol tucked under her armpit.

The bar- no. To be precise, the speakeasy, was tucked neatly into the corner of an antique store, itself tucked into a shopping complex built inside the decrepit shell of a former Rexicoripan asteroid mining rig, repurposed into a hip shopping mall by a landlord with infinitely more Vision than vision. For a moment, Kiyone bellyached that these sort of people always seemed to operate out of, or in walkable proximity to bars. It made sense, of course: disinhibited marks were easy to separate from their resources or recruit to yours, all with a handy way to excuse poor decisions to yourself, your compatriots, and any police summoned by the uninitiated. The large bald man watching her was in impeccable shape, muscles straining against tight clothing like an overcooked sausage in its casing. The skin that did show bore no scars. A casual observer might take his unblemished skin for a sign that his muscle was all decoration. The dead, flat shark eyes bared the truth that very few enemies had ever enjoyed the good fortune of getting a hit in.
“Ey barkeep,” Kiyone bleated, “Whose dick do I have to suck to get something to drink in this place?”
The bartender, a portly middle-aged man in a brocade vest with no shirt below it grimaced and spit into a sink. Checking his watch, he directed a frosty glare at her.
“Been here fifteen minutes and just decided it was time for a drink?”
Kiyone took the hint: every move is being watched. Then she pretended to ignore it.
“I was being poLITE, shitlord. Customer service in this place needs work, otherwise you’d have asked ME if I needed a drink by minute five.”
The bartender snorted. The muscle took his eyes off Kiyone; rather than the entrance, his gaze fell upon a perfectly unremarkable stretch of wall. Kiyone ordered the second most expensive sake the bar had. The milky-white liquid in its tiny cup cost the monthly salary of several lower-ranking GXP officers. Even watered down, its taste was unmistakable: it could be nothing other than Shinju Sake brewed from the fruit of a Juraian royal tree. Only one criminal could possibly access it- let alone sell it, a brag of the greatest caliber. The trail of clues she’d followed had been right. Kiyone crossed her legs, the creamy skin of her thigh daring eager eyes to peep into her pencil skirt. A harlot’s smile crept across her lips. She would get her man come Hell or high water.
“Now this is what I call service.” She purred to the barkeep. “This stuff’s good. Your boss has exquisite taste.”

The bartended attended to other members of the seedy clientele for a minute or two before he returned and placed a fizzing glass next to her on a cocktail napkin. Kiyone raised an eyebrow. Before the words “I didn’t order that” could leave her lips, he tapped the napkin twice with two fingers and spun off wordlessly. Ignoring the other patrons, she slid the glass toward her quickly, peeling the napkin back. On its underside was written a single character in squid-ink-black: “sincerity.”
Reviewing the facts in her head, she had a half-decent sketch of why she’d received it. Ordering the most expensive sake might have been a flex- but one any trust fund kid or bigshot could have done casually. Twenty galactic credits said it was perfectly ordinary liquor, too. But find the needle in the haystack and subtly imply you knew who put it there? That must have sent message. Kiyone basked in the warm glow of pride for a moment. Still, work to do.
She stood, smoothing her skirt, and stalked to the perfectly unremarkable stretch of bare wall. Six and a half feet of muscle appeared to block her way, face impassive. She held up the napkin. The symbol repelled him as if by magic. The head on his too-thick neck jerked to gesture her through. There didn’t seem to be a latch or switch hidden along the wall. Hologram? She thought. Sure enough, she passed directly through the façade, ignoring the automated turrets that tracked her afterwards. To distract herself from those barrels, she made herself wonder about her partner. Kiyone had convinced her to split up a few hours earlier to “cover more ground.” Nothing had exploded yet, which had to be a good sign. What could Mihoshi be doing right now?
--
Mihoshi giggled. Conspiratorially she whispered: “I’m looking for a man!”
The skinhead she was talking to preened, adjusting the flashy buckle of his studded belt. He hadn’t been sure this pretty little thing was in the right part of town until now.
“Well I think I can help you there…”
“Oh, really? That’s great! Seem I’m looking for a really powerful man. The kind of guy who’s really in charge, you know?”
Boy, was it him or were these pants getting tighter?
“That’s good to hear. Lotta women these days are going for the soft type.”
She shook her head vehemently, sending curly ribbons of gold streaming. Her blue eyes were dazzling.
“No way, the man I’m looking for won’t be anything like that.”
The skinhead’s grin broadened.
“I think you’d fit in great with some friends of mine. We’re having a little meeting tonight. You want to come along? Give us a little more time to talk.”
He emphasized the last word by flexing his pecs.
--
Amagasaki looked in dumbfounded horror at the friend he has known since elementary school. He pushed his glasses up his bulbous nose as if the light passing through them would refocus suddenly into the Tenchi he knew. It was a no-go. His attention was so fixed he could barely guide the onigiri from bento to mouth, grains of rice rubbing off and sticking to his cheek.
“So you’re a girl now. For real?”
“For real,” Tenchi drawled. She hadn’t even passed her lunch break without having this conversation more times than she cared to count now. She’d also cleaned away several examples of colorful language and pictures lovingly scrawled in marker on her locker, but that was a problem to chew on later.
“And like… your boobs are real?”
A sigh that could blow down a mountain.
“Yes, Amagaski. My boobs are real.”
A blessed pause. Then:
“Can I see them?”
Tenchi shuddered, thinking that if she had a vagina, it would have dried up and sealed itself shut like the cave by grandpa’s shrine. The sobering thought caught up with her- thanks to Washu’s intervention, she did. Now she almost regretted it.
“No.”
“Why?” Out came the wounded puppy voice.
“I have a girlfriend.” Reason two of ten. Amagasaki’s eyes peered into space.
“Awesome.”
Tenchi shuddered. Reason three.
--
A soft chime sounded as the door to Washu’s offices opened. The same chime sounded across her lab, signaling her to step through the portal and attend a client. She pulled on her Very Official Labcoat and her best customer service voice.
“Welcome to Little Washu’s Big Changes, what dreams can I make come true for you today?”
Looking over the front desk, her eyes lit up with recognition.
“Oh- it’s you! Should I hide the posters?”
Amaya winced, agonizingly conscious of the way her Adams’ apple bobbed when she did it. She hung her head- it had the added benefit of making it harder to see the pictures of Tenchi behind the front desk.
“I’m… I’m sorry about that. I’d understand if you want me to leave. But… if you’re taking new clients…”
Washu’s expression was beatific magnanimity, warm and bright as the sun as she spread her arms wide in welcome.
“Have a seat. Just a little paperwork and we’ll get you started.”
Amaya blinked. Her voice cracked.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
And then the little goblin winked at her as she flounced away to get the papers. Those were certainly not tears in Amaya’s eye. She was way too tough for that. Must have been some glitter caught in there from last night.
- 10
- 11
- 12
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

No Need for Masculinity