Over a dozen years had passed. In the long river of the shinobi world, this was barely a flicker, yet it was enough for once-tiny children to grow into tall, poised youths.
The two children who had once nestled in Kaguya's arms listening to stories were now grown. Their once-delicate horns had shed their youthful green, replaced by the dignified presence unique to the Ōtsutsuki clan.
The bamboo forest remained as it had been. Only time had deepened its character. The bamboo stalks were straighter, the canopy denser, blocking much of the winter chill.
At the heart of the forest stood a majestic temple.
Its green-tiled roof and crimson walls rose elegantly, eaves curling skyward, with copper bells hanging beneath that tinkled softly in the breeze, cutting through the silent forest with crisp clarity.
On the temple's plaque were three simple characters: "Manji Temple," written with strength and precision, faintly echoing Kaguya's own hand.
Dozens of human monks, clad in gray robes, swept leaves and snow from the courtyard, moving with reverent care, careful not to disturb the solemnity.
Incense smoke rose in delicate spirals from the main hall, mingling with the scent of bamboo, filling the space. The incense burners outside were filled with candles of varying lengths, the ash heaped from countless years of offerings.
This temple had been built by Kaguya for Manji, located exactly where betrayal and sacrifice had once stained the bamboo forest.
Every year on this day, she brought Yui and Yumu not for ritual, but for the quiet weight of her own guilt.
Over the years, she had selectively lifted the Infinite Tsukuyomi, freeing parts of humanity. Life continued to flourish, yet the Divine Tree still stood atop the world. Occasionally, sacrifices were sent beneath it, nourishing the White Zetsu army.
Kaguya needed this army to prepare for the possible reckoning of the Ōtsutsuki clan.
Over time, three beliefs emerged: devotion to the creator goddess Kaguya, worship of the ever-sacrificed Divine Tree, and reverence for the legendary Manji.
Humans knew little of Manji's past. They only knew he was a hero personally acknowledged by Kaguya, and so they came to pray, hoping for his protection.
"Yui, Yumu, offer your incense."
Kaguya's voice remained cool, yet carried the weight of years. She stood at the temple entrance, gazing at the portrait hanging in the main hall, eyes unreadable.
"Yes, Mother."
The two children accepted the incense from the monks, lit it, bowed deeply to the portrait, and placed it in the burner.
The portrait depicted Manji as a young man in simple robes, standing tall, dark hair flowing lightly, lips red and teeth white, eyes carrying both pride and serenity just as he had appeared in those days.
Yui stared at the image, curiosity and doubt rising in her chest. For over a decade, her mother had recounted countless tales of Manji, yet never revealed his fate, as if the hero had vanished into thin air.
Once the offerings were complete, Kaguya left without lingering, moving swiftly out of the bamboo forest and vanishing from sight.
Yui and Yumu, however, lingered, their pace slower. Only after leaving the temple and seeing their mother depart did Yui speak, her voice tinged with confusion: "Yumu, I always thought Manji was a hero Mother made up. Do you think he really existed?"
Yumu paused, looking back at the temple half-hidden in the forest, then at the portrait.
"I think he must have existed. Mother is always practical. If he were just a fiction, she wouldn't have spent so much effort building a temple or ensuring humans would worship it for generations."
He hesitated, adding, "Look at the scale of this temple and the ongoing offerings. If there were no real person behind it, why would she go to such lengths?"
"That makes sense."
Yui nodded, though the mystery lingered. "I've asked many older villagers, yet none know any details about Manji. Someone so extraordinary, and not a trace left behind? Mother never says where he went, if he's alive or dead."
"Perhaps it's just too long ago."
Yumu's gaze drifted toward distant mountains. "We don't even know how long Mother has lived. Manji's story could have taken place so long ago that history didn't record it."
This seemed a reasonable explanation. Yui's doubts eased slightly, and the two fell silent, walking side by side toward the lake of their childhood.
Winter winds swept the snow in thick flakes, covering the world in white. The lake's surface had frozen over, reflecting the soft light of snow. Banks and vegetation were blanketed in thick layers, leaving only bare branches pointing skyward like a minimalist ink painting.
The snow reached past their ankles, each step leaving deep footprints that crunched sharply in the quiet.
"Big brother, look! Someone's fishing there!"
Yumu suddenly stopped, eyes lighting up as he pointed toward the lake.
"Really?"
Yui followed his gaze. Amid the vast snow, a simple thatched hut appeared on the shore, its roof covered in thick snow, like a white pom-pom.
In front of the hut, a man sat quietly on a rock, holding a fishing rod.
He wore a thin black-and-red robe.
The wind lightly lifted the fabric, but he shivered not at all. Dark hair fell casually over his shoulders, making his pale skin stand out against the snow.
"Strange. No one ever lived here before. When did this hut appear?"
Curious, Yumu led the way toward the shore, Yui close behind.
As they neared, the man's features became clearer. Sitting sideways, his profile was striking, brows deep and eyes calm, lips curved in a faint smile. He held the fishing rod with ease, as if the surrounding wind and snow were of no concern.
"…."
The two children exchanged a glance. They felt an inexplicable familiarity yet could not place it.
"Sir, fishing in the snow, how poetic."
Yui stepped forward, hands clasped respectfully, her tone filled with admiration. Ordinary humans seldom had the leisure to fish in midwinter.
Suddenly, the rod jerked sharply.
"Plop!"
With a flick of his wrist, the man drew a large, silver-scaled fish from the water.
"How lucky! Such a big catch!"
Yumu's eyes widened with admiration. In winter, such a fish was rare.
The man turned to the children, smile gentle, eyes seeming to peer through time itself: "You two came at just the right moment. Would you like some fish soup?"
Yui and Yumu exchanged surprised looks, then nodded eagerly: "Thank you, sir."
Inside the hut, the interior was simple. A wooden table, a few chairs, a stack of firewood in the corner, and a warmly burning stove contrasted sharply with the snow outside.
The man cleaned the fish skillfully, placed it in a clay pot with water, ginger slices, and some unknown herbs, then set it over the fire to simmer.
Soon, the rich aroma of fish soup filled the air, making mouths water.
When the pot was brought to the table, lifting the lid released a cloud of steam. The milky-white broth shimmered with freshness, the fish tender, the subtle sweetness of wild herbs enhancing the flavor.
"Wow, it smells amazing!"
Yui and Yumu each took a wooden spoonful, tasting the soup.
The flavor was rich and delicate, no hint of fishiness, only pure freshness and warmth flowing down, chasing away the cold.
"Such skill!"
"This fish soup tastes even better than Mother's!"
Yui could not help but praise.
"Yes, a bowl of this in the dead of winter is a true delight."
Yumu nodded enthusiastically, drinking deeply, his face full of contentment.
Manji sat quietly, a faint smile on his lips.
His culinary skill had been honed over years in Myoboku Mountain, where he had struggled with insect and fungus-based "immortal delicacies" he could not eat. Necessity had driven him to learn cooking, and over millennia, he had mastered it.
Full and satisfied, the fire dimmed. Manji stood, preparing to leave.
Yui and Yumu rose, bowing politely. Yui asked, "Thank you for your hospitality, sir. May I ask your name, so we can repay your kindness one day?"
Manji turned, his gaze lingering on them briefly: "I have no name. I am but a man forgotten by time."
He paused, a subtle, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth: "Repayment will come. We will meet again."