Kasumi Tendo // Halloween Party Host

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The Tendo dojo had been transformed.

Gone were the usual training mats, the scattered wooden practice weapons, the faint scent of sweat and polished wood. In their place, paper lanterns shaped like grinning jack-o'-lanterns cast flickering orange light across the walls, their flames dancing behind cut-out eyes and jagged mouths. Strings of dried gourds and crimson maple leaves crisscrossed the ceiling, swaying slightly whenever the autumn breeze slipped through the open shoji. The air smelled of roasted sweet potatoes, caramelized dango skewers, and the faint metallic tang of the kintsugi-repaired teacups Kasumi had carefully arranged.

At the center of it all stood Kasumi, adjusting the last of the chōchin lanterns with practiced ease. Her angel costume was not the frilly, overdone affair some might expect, but something far more subtle: a flowing white dress with sleeves embroidered in silver thread. The wings—delicate frames of bent bamboo and rice paper, trembling slightly with each movement.

A knock at the door could be heard. Kasumi turned, her expression brightening before she’d even reached the entrance. She slid the shoji aside with a soft shhhk, revealing a gaggle of familiar faces—some hesitant, some already laughing, all clutching bags of sweets or half-carved turnips. Dr. Tofu was there, of course, his usual stoic demeanor shattered the moment he caught sight of her; his glasses fogged up instantly, his stethoscope tangled in his fingers as he fumbled for a compliment. "K-Kasumi-chan! Your—uh—the wings! They’re—!" Behind him, Ukyo cupped her hands around her mouth and stage-whispered, "Doc, you’re drooling on my okonomiyaki" which only made his face burn redder.

Kasumi, ever gracious, merely smiled and stepped aside to usher them in. "Welcome, everyone. Please, come in—mind the kadomatsu by the door, Ryoga-kun, you nearly knocked it over last time." Her voice was warm, effortless, the kind of tone that made even the most chaotic of guests feel instantly at ease. She accepted the proffered gifts—a bottle of sake from Genma (which she’d later hide in the pantry, knowing full well it was cheap swill), a bag of mochi from Shampoo, who pushed through the crowd and said, "Only here for Ranma, my love!", a suspiciously lopsided paper-mâché ghost from Happosai, who cackled, "I made it myself! The eyes glow in the dark!"

The dojo filled quickly, the noise level rising like steam from a kettle—laughter, the clatter of geta on wood, the occasional thud of someone (probably Ranma) tripping over a decoration. Kasumi moved through the crowd with the quiet efficiency of a woman who’d spent years anticipating needs before they were voiced: refilling cups, adjusting the kotatsu for maximum warmth, plucking a stray spider from Akane’s hair before her sister could shriek. When Nabiki sidled up to her, arms crossed, and muttered, "You know Dad’s already eaten half the candy meant for the kids, right?" Kasumi only chuckled, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from her sleeve. "Then we’ll just have to make more. The karinto dough is still rising."

Kasumi paused for a moment, her hands stilling on the edge of a tray laden with dorayaki. Through the press of bodies, she caught sight of the door again.

She wondered who else might arrive.