The Abandoned Saint's Happy Feeding Life - Chapter 4

The visitors came right after he put the toddler back to sleep.

While cleaning up breakfast, nibbling a microwaved wiener, and searching on his phone for toddler-friendly, easy-to-digest snacks, the front door was knocked on.

Homes around here rarely had doorbells.

People almost never locked their doors, so when they had business, they just walked in and called out.

But Zen’ichi wasn’t used to that culture—he always locked—so the door got knocked.

“Who is it?”

He called from inside the entrance.

“Mom told me to bring some extras!”

“Idiot! It’s ‘I came to visit’!”

“Aaaapples! I brought apples!”

Several children’s voices came from outside.

Zen’ichi didn’t usually stay in the village—he attended university in the city—so villagers kept their distance. Kids visiting was rare.

Surprised, he opened the door.

No fanatics among the young, so he judged it safe.

“Young Master, hello!!”

The moment the door opened, an upper-grade elementary kid bowed deeply with a loud greeting.

“Hello~!”

“Yo!”

Two mid-grade kids followed suit.

The youngest, pulled by an older sibling’s hand, managed a confused “Hello!”

“Uh, extras?”

“Yes! Dad got a ton of apples at the market, so Mom said bring some to Young Master. Can we come in?”

The oldest grinned, showing a plastic bag full of apples.

Zen’ichi, usually avoided by kids, was flustered by their bold approach.

“Ah, uh, thank you.”

He let them in; they all filed inside.

The last one in politely closed—and locked—the door.

“…?”

Zen’ichi grew slightly wary, but the kids took off their backpacks.

“Moms said bring these.”

“Don’t let the old folks find out—it’d be trouble.”

“There’s a little kid, right? Moms were worried!”

“These are Ryō’s old clothes from when he was tiny!”

From the backpacks came paper and plastic bags, lined up one by one.

Toddler clothes, shoes, baby oil, kid shampoo and conditioner, nail clippers, wet wipes, a foldable step stool, simple picture books, and…

“This is… a potty?”

Zen’ichi tilted his head at a seat-like thing with a famous national anime hero sticker.

“It’s a toilet seat reducer. For kids smaller than Ryō—so they don’t fall in.”

“Ryō’s a big boy now, doesn’t need it. Give it to the little one.”

The likely former owner puffed out his chest.

“Sorry… is it okay to accept all this?”

So much from near-strangers—Zen’ichi was overwhelmed.

“Moms said ‘We’re glad Young Master is protecting the child.’”

“We thought we’d have to go ourselves, ready to get excommunicated—but Young Master stood up to the Yaomote? and helped.”

The mid-graders said something surprising.

“They’re sorry they can only support in secret. Mom said, “Give you this.”

The oldest handed Zen’ichi a folded paper.

It had a string of letters and numbers.

“Contact me if anything’s wrong.”

Apparently an app ID.

The kids rummaged in their pockets, pulled out balloons, and started blowing them up.

The oldest helped the youngest; they tucked them into backpacks.

“Super secret. If the old hags find out, moms might get bullied.”

“Moms are trying, but the old people here are scary.”

Camouflage—so no one would know they brought things.

“Don’t stay long or the elders will suspect. Young Master, please protect the little kid.”

The oldest bowed deeply; the others followed.

“Thank you. Honestly, I was struggling—this helps a lot. I’ll contact your moms later.”

He bowed; they grinned shyly and quickly unlocked the door and left.

All were acquaintances, all under surveillance—yet they slipped through to deliver support.

Knowing people wanted to help warm Zen’ichi’s chest.

His brother mocked him, and he knew he’d picked up trouble, but fighting alone made the gratitude deeper.

He also felt guilt for lumping all villagers together and avoiding contact.

The main family’s toxic attitude had made him assume everyone here was an enemy.

Unpleasant stares when entering the village—he holed up in the annex, never greeting anyone.

Yet even tiny kids worried about a stranger child—he was ashamed for not seeing it.

Using the ID, Zen’ichi sent a polite thank-you and apology for not thanking them in person.

Suddenly relying on people he barely spoke to, whose names he didn’t even know, felt presumptuous—he couldn’t do it.

As Zen’ichi crouched to check the gifts, the inner sliding door rattled gata gata.

“Uuu~~!!”

A young voice overlapped the sound.

“Awake already?”

He said, carefully opening the door.

She was right behind it—he had to make sure she didn’t tumble out.

Her energetic voice came from beyond.

“A-Aeimai…”

The moment the door opened, her expression turned hesitant.

“What’s wrong? Hungry again?”

He asked in the softest voice possible, knowing she wouldn’t understand.

His appearance apparently intimidated women and children, so he had to show with attitude that he was an ally.

Peering in while crouching, she didn’t seem to have forgotten him.

But she was fidgeting moji moji.

“Uuu!!”

After more fidgeting, she pressed her belly.

“You okay?”

Giving her protein right after waking might have burdened her insides.

Worried, he leaned closer—she trembled puru puru, eyes filling with tears.

“~~~~~”

Then, as if she couldn’t hold it, she pressed her crotch and started running in place.

“Toilet!!”

He understood instantly.

He’d heard somewhere that toddlers have small bladders and can’t hold it long.

Zen’ichi hurriedly carried her to the bathroom.

“Here, toilet!!”

He made it before any leaks and sighed in relief, but she kept stepping in place, panicking.

“…Toilet?”

It was Western-style—she shouldn’t be confused.

He gently pushed her back to show it was okay, but she stayed flustered.

Even foreign kids should know a toilet.

“Eh? Eh? Manui ue uei—chirumani? Eh? Nyainyu?”

Muttering ui ui while stepping.

“Right here.”

He opened the lid and pointed, but she only cried out in surprise and didn’t move.

“Yanimii…?”

She gripped the seat and peered inside.

The bowl was huge compared to her body.

Finally, it clicked for Zen’ichi.

“Ah, got it! Too big!! Wait—just wait! Hold it! Be right back!!”

He’d just heard about it but forgot.

He dashed back, grabbed the toilet seat reducer from the paper bag.

It had various attachments—no time to read instructions.

“Uh… just put it on!!”

She’d been holding it a while.

A leak would be a disaster.

“Okay, pants down!!”

“Ahyah!?”

He pulled down the drawstring shorts, set her on the seat.

She flailed and cried in surprise, but the moment she sat, she went limp.

“That was close… made it…”

One second later would’ve been a catastrophe.

Even at this age, an accident would’ve hurt her mentally.

Zen’ichi exhaled in relief.

“~~~♪ ~~~~~~♪ ~~~”

“Beep!!!”

Oblivious to his panic, she happily played the music.

“Huh, it plays music too.”

The reducer had a popular kids’ character—maybe she’d used one before.

“Can you wipe yourself…?”

Doubtful, but he grabbed toilet paper.

No gap to reach in—how to wipe?

“Wipe?”

He handed it over; she looked blank.

“Yani mii nii!?”

She unfolded and tore the paper, playing.

(Ah… maybe the shape’s different? Toilet paper isn’t universal.)

Zen’ichi tilted his head, wondering how to explain.

“Wipe. Like this? Wi-pe.”

Words useless—body language only.

He mimed wiping his rear repeatedly.

She looked puzzled at first, then seemed to get it and started wiping.

Zen’ichi clapped without thinking.

Surely a universal gesture.

Clapped at, she smiled shyly but happily, then dropped the paper in the bowl—more clapping.

He’d heard some nearby countries don’t flush paper; he’d worried what to do—clapping came naturally.

She beamed.

“Clean now? Wipe again?”

She was still seated, so Zen’ichi handed her more toilet paper, thinking she wanted another wipe—but even after wiping, she stayed on the seat.

Her legs dangled bura bura.

(…Ah, she can’t get down by herself!!)

Finally realizing, Zen’ichi lifted her off.

(Right, she can’t do a lot on her own. She’s so small.)

Nodding to himself, he helped the dazed toddler back into her shorts.

Watching her energetically pull them up with little cheers, he recalled the clothes the kids had brought.

He’d dress her in something that fit later. Since all the visitors were boys, there probably weren’t any underwear.

No clothing stores in this countryside—he’d need to head to the city soon.

“Good job.”

Her proud stance in the shorts made Zen’ichi laugh as he praised her.

He wiped the reducer and set it beside the toilet.

He’d heard that flushing with the lid open sprays water into the air, so he always closed it.

She tried to lift the lid, wanting to watch—Zen’ichi stopped her with a wry smile.

“No, no. Don’t open while flushing—it’s dirty. Come, wash hands.”

But his calm lasted only until then.

He lifted her to the sink and wet her hands.

“Soap now.”

He applied hand soap.

She stared at it curiously.

“Rub, rub. Try it? Rub, rub.”

He tried, but as expected—no understanding.

She tilted her head, troubled.

No choice—he set her on his foot and scrubbed for her.

White foam should appear—but Zen’ichi doubted his eyes.

The soap turned pitch black and ran off before foaming.

“…No way. Soap that doesn’t foam…?”

And this black.

Not normal dirt.

He rinsed once, applied more—hoping this time.

Same result.

Slightly less dark, maybe—but no foam, just dripping.

“…No way…”

He’d noticed dark, visible grime, but this much?

Third, fourth time—foam started faintly; fifth time, finally white foam.

“It foamed!!”

He cheered involuntarily, but the foam quickly turned dingy.

(One more… no, too much washing hurts skin…)

Rinsing zabu zabu, pure white hands emerged from the foam.

“Waa!”

She squealed happily.

Zen’ichi screamed inside.

(She’s actually white—!!)

Skin whiteness fundamentally different from Japanese.

One look showed a different race.

He’d assumed Middle Eastern or similar from the overall tan—but the revealed skin denied it.

Zen’ichi swallowed hard.

(So… all this dark brown… is grime!!)

White to brown to near-black.

The gradient on hands and wrists was extreme.

And if he wasn’t mistaken—the grime layer was about 1 mm thick.

(I thought the bone was right under the skin… but there’s grime armor on top…!!)

So thin, yet removing grime might shrink her further.

He’d thought her skeletal, near-starving ghost—but cleaned, she’d be a proper one.

But skin clogged with grime was definitely unhealthy.

Possible skin disease.

(But bathing an emaciated body…)

Hesitating, his eyes fell on her scalp.

He’d assumed black hair meant black scalp—but looking closely, the scalp was black too.

Cracked everywhere, hair pushing out like stubborn radishes through asphalt.

(If this continues, hair roots will die—she’ll go bald…?)

Bald at this age.

Images of school bullying flashed in Zen’ichi’s mind.

This innocent child—now joyfully waving clean hands and dancing an evolved mating dance—couldn’t walk a thorny path.

“Bath… bath time. Yeah… bath.”

He muttered without thinking.

The tiny pride from earlier—I can’t flip-flop and ask for help—went straight to the trash.

“Sorry. Can you advise me on bathing a toddler?”

Without hesitation, Zen’ichi contacted the experienced parents.