The Abandoned Saint's Happy Feeding Life - Chapter 8

After finishing lunch prep, Zen’ichi fiddled with his phone beside Asha.

He was reporting results, and thanks to the Young Wives Club.

There, he learned surprising toddler trivia: no power-save mode.

When awake, 100% activity—then sudden battery death, straight to sleep.

Hence, low-stamina babies had shorter wake-sleep cycles.

This emaciated, obviously low-stamina, he nodded, gazing at Asha.

Sunken eye sockets—if eyes closed, child mummy.

Now healthy snores—but first awakening, barely any breath; he’d repeatedly checked his mouth for survival.

Baby oil helped—less dry, mummy-level down from yesterday—but the wasted body wouldn’t recover with a few meals.

Her innocent energy, despite her looks, heart ached more.

(Feed her plenty, make her healthy.)

Contact done, Zen’ichi combed Asha’s hair.

Sadly, complex tangles—some needed cutting.

To minimize cuts, wiped dirt, sometimes brought hot water to soften, and expanded combable areas.

She slept well—wanted to help return her to a normal child, while possible, diligently untangled.

Halfway through—

Violent pounding at the entrance.

Clear malice—Zen’ichi frowned.

A basin of hot water and scissors were dangerous if Asha woke nearby—placed on the kitchen table, headed to the door.

“Who?”

No mood for polite “who is it” to be a nuisance.

Sharp challenge—pounding paused.

“Young Master, we’ve come for that. Open up quickly.”

Polite words—obvious condescension, textbook insolence.

(The geezers.)

Expected soon—but many.

Through frosted glass and lattice frame—at least four shadows.

“I said I’d take responsibility. Go home.”

Zen’ichi responded through a closed door.

No intent to open and invite harm-intended men.

Normal swing door, maybe—but this was sliding.

Couldn’t shut fast; double sliding—unlock meant either side opened.

“We said not to act alone!”

“Right! No one agreed!!”

“The head’s troubled!! Don’t cause problems!!”

Elderly to middle-aged voices—the door pounded again.

Called Young Master yet clearly despised.

“Criminal’s kid!”

Mockery audible.

To them, Zen’ichi was the head’s mistake, barely-twenty brat, temporary bridge until proper heir.

But this pounding disturbed Asha’s sleep.

I wanted to open and silence by force—held back.

These were tantrum-throwing kids who’d abandoned reason with age.

Loud noise = demands met—like supermarket floor-rollers.

“No matter how noisy, it won’t open. Won’t hand the child to apes who don’t grasp basic human rights.”

Coldly to raging elders.

“A-Apes!?”

“Illegitimate brat…!!”

Drop from high bl00d pressure—but outside only roars, no collapse.

Lively geezers.

“Useless old harms who’ll only enrich undertakers—don’t disturb a promising toddler’s sleep.”

Provoked more—dialect-mixed screams, unintelligible.

Mental attacks from inside his limit—noise escalated, Zen’ichi sighed.

Angrier pounding—considered opening and dousing with a bucket.

Water calms excited animals—but risky.

“Open! We come on Mogami-sama’s word!!”

While debating, one shouted.

“…What?”

Bucket hesitation—Zen’ichi frowned.

“Mogami? Told you to abuse a child?”

“Mogami-sama!! Insolvent to drop honorifics!!”

“Answer. The seer gave orders?”

“‘Seer’!? Insulting Mogami-sama!?”

Raging elder—conversation impossible.

No proper answers likely.

Deep sigh.

(No good. Physical cooling.)

Looked composed—still a late-teen college student.

Turned from screaming, punching, kicking men—upended trash buckets, dumped bags, dosa dosa.

Carried to the bathroom, full faucet.

While filling—found a suitable bar, fixed one sliding door.

Filled the poly-bucket to barely lift, carried it to the entrance.

Lively geezers still raging.

Shoulder-carry one arm—Zen’ichi unlocked.

The door flew open as if waiting.

Men tried to avalanche in—saw incoming water pillars.

Full-swing centrifugal water mass—mowed two, dragged three, all blown away.

The one hiding in the door shadow was unhurt—but the moment he stepped in with an angry face, the trash bucket flew as a follow-up, hit him square, and he tumbled mondori.

No standing shadows left—Zen’ichi stepped outside.

“Cool your heads?”

The men sprawled on the ground, stunned—his voice reignited their fight, but they tried to charge… only to lose words under his glare from above.

They could rant across the door, not seeing his face, but face-to-face, no guts.

Six men—the highest maybe 170 cm, many declining in easy retirement.

Zen’ichi is over 190 cm, steel-forged body, national kendo champion in high school.

Drilled in every martial art as the head’s son, no match in the village.

Deep-carved face, majestic like a prairie lord.

Even in a gag T-shirt saying “I don’t wanna work”—intimidation undiminished.

Realizing who they’d targeted, the middle-aged/elderly coalition fell silent.

Zen’ichi slowly scanned them.

“Did Mogami order you to torment my kid?”

Asked again—men exchanged looks.

Eyes gathered on the seeming ringleader—a reluctant middle-aged man spoke.

“Didn’t directly say bring her… but said ‘that is not human’…”

Zen’ichi frowned slightly.

“Not human”—not mild.

But it’s impossible.

Mind flashed: joy eating fishballs, dancing over apple juice.

(…All food-related…)

Inner retort—he let it pass.

“Not human”—what these grown men planned to gang up and do—horrific to imagine.

“No specific orders—just worst-case sycophancy.”

Coldly—wilted like soggy greens, men glared.

“But that kid’s weird!!”

“Right!! No way she slipped past everyone into the forbidden zone!!”

“Young Master saw!! That infant was inside the purged ‘filth’!!”

“She was born from ‘filth’!!”

Fear is clear in shouting faces.

“Ridiculous. ‘Filth’ is just ‘filth’. Only spreads hate—can’t create. She’s just a child.”

Like witch-hunting priests fearing the unknown—Zen’ichi spat.

“But it’s strange!? Gatekeepers or anyone—nobody saw her!”

One face twitched.

Gatekeepers—those living beside the single path into the village.

“Yes! To reach the zone, someone must see!”

“Outsider—child or baby—would be spotted instantly!”

“Anyway, that body couldn’t walk alone!!”

Saliva-flying men—Zen’ichi sighed.

True—only one proper route to this valley village.

Mountains around all heads’ property—no entry without permission.

But would child-abandoners obey no trespass?

Drop her deep in the mountains to never return, she wandered, emerged by chance—can’t they think?

Fear first, erase scary things—too shortsighted to mock.

These men sat smug in the village core—that’s why Zen’ichi hated it here.

“In short, you want her gone because it’s scary. Who’d hand her to such apes? Go home before catching a cold. I’ll complain to Mogami myself.”

Turned to leave—noticed a curious face inside watching.

Mustn’t let rigid-heads see her—Zen’ichi hurriedly grabbed the trash bucket, slammed the door pishari.

But seen.

“That’s her!!”

“Hand her over!!”

“Ignoring Mogami-sama!?”

Men screamed gyaa gyaa, pounded again.

Zen’ichi stroked Asha’s head.

“It’s okay. Not scary.”

Said, shouldered a bucket for another pour.

Then—Asha suddenly hopped onto the entrance tile.

“Hey, hey, dangerous.”

She stumbled, landing—he reached, but Asha flashed palm.

“Mii myuii! Mamu irina!”

Wait, seemingly.

“…?”

Watching—she began strange steps ton ton.

Flapped hands pata pata.

“…Pfft!”

Zen’ichi nearly burst laughing.

Dead serious—but like Bon dance plus Awa dance divided by two, hula-arranged—odd dance.

With proper muscle, maybe decent.

On Asha’s wasted body—like a broken toy.

But Zen’ichi could only laugh for so long.

Asha had been dancing in a circle on the tiled entrance—then something slowly rose from the center.

A faint glow.

Invisible to ordinary people, the village called it “ki.”

Slowly, slowly—it thickened until even Zen’ichi, who should barely see it, recognized it clearly.

When it peaked—

“Ha!!”

Asha made a pushing gesture.

Instantly—something unseen rushed as wind.

“Gyaa!!!”

“Hiii!!!”

Short screams outside—frosted glass shadows blown away.

Doors and windows rattled kata kata—no damage.

(Threw pure “ki”…!!)

Zen’ichi’s eyes widened in shock.

Never seen such a feat.

(And the pose—pure Kamehame○…)

Blond warriors would be stunned.

“That is not human.”

The words flooded his mind.

This tiny child—no medium—did what even Zen’ichi needed grueling training for.

Maybe she was another species.

Alertness stirred—then besha—Asha sat hard on the tile.

Exhaustion… legs couldn’t hold weight.

“Asha!!”

Not stopping at butt-fall—she toppled.

Zen’ichi flung the bucket, caught her.

Stuffed-toy lightness—push against his chest.

“Asha, you okay?”

Lifting her—lighter than the trash bucket—her heart ached.

Sweat beaded forehead, face pale—but eyes sparkled proudly, begging praise.

“Unie memaiiya ouei naa!”

Withered hands punched shus shus toward the entrance.

Like “Got ’em!”—Zen’ichi’s face softened.

Too pure for malice.

Human or not—must protect.

Besides, “ki” was sacred, purging “filth.”

Evil couldn’t wield it.

“…Can you eat lunch?”

Said, carried her back to the futon.

Stewed vegetables waited in the pot.

Hesitant on solids—but the egg should be fine.

Soft half-boiled.

Lunch: hearty simmered udon.

(I hope she likes udon.)

Wishing joy—Zen’ichi returned to the kitchen.

The blown-away men never made noise again.