In the human world, in a remote corner of a ruined village, a rickety thatched hut stood alone.
Wind blew through its four walls. Most of the thatch had fallen from the roof, and the hut was bare inside. Apart from a chipped black clay pot and a few beds made of dry grass, there was nothing else.
Manji figured that even if a rat came by, it would leave disappointed and hungry.
In the middle of the hut, a child of about five or six stood on tiptoe, struggling to stoke the fire beneath the stove and cook a meal.
The child looked strange, with a pair of small, pale horns protruding from the top of his head. His face was sallow, and he looked weak from prolonged malnutrition. Only his eyes held a resolve beyond his years.
The fire burned brightly. Scalding steam carrying the scent of rice surged upward, forming a thick cloud of white mist that instantly enveloped the child.
The next moment, the child's body went limp. His eyes closed, and without warning, he toppled straight onto the cold dirt floor, falling completely unconscious.
As the mist slowly dispersed, two figures appeared out of thin air inside the hut.
The young man in front wore a plain Immortal Robe and had an impassive expression. He was none other than Manji, the Great Sage of Mount Myōboku.
A small toad perched on his shoulder: Sage Shima, who was in charge of intelligence.
Manji glanced around the utterly dilapidated hut, a faint trace of surprise flickering in his eyes. Then his gaze fell on the unconscious child with two horns.
"Great Sage, this is the one. A toad's senses never fail."
Sage Shima crouched on Manji's shoulder and pointed at the child with her short toad foreleg,