"It smells amazing..."
The monkey-headed man had been climbing for over a full day, utterly exhausted and starving.
The rich, steaming aroma of food made his stomach let out a weak, pathetic growl. His mouth tried its best to produce saliva, but his throat was so parched from exertion that not a single drop could be mustered...
Crawling into the upper level, he saw three figures gathered around a large, bubbling pot.
One had a face as dark as charcoal, another was a striking and beautiful woman, and the last wore an animal mask... Each held a bowl, using chopsticks to pluck food from the pot or add fresh vegetables and sliced meat from nearby plates. Wait, how is the masked one eating?
Then it hit him—the person in the animal mask... wasn't that the "god" from over two years ago, the one who had appeared in that vision, defeated the Great Demon King, and announced the existence of the Korin Tower?
His stomach let out another feeble whimper, and the three diners turned to look at him.
"Uh... hi..." He scratched his head, too drained to even think of what to say.
"I see," the masked figure said, setting down his chopsticks. His voice was muffled but clear. "Two years ago, after the god's decree banned discrimination and enslavement of animal-people, you gained your freedom. Since then, you've saved up money, trained day and night, and after two years of travel, finally found the Korin Tower..."
The monkey-headed man startled. "How do you know all that?"
"I'm a god. Isn't it normal for me to know such things?" The masked figure shrugged.
After all, even the Turtle Hermit could read Nam's memories from a distance, and Korin had instantly understood Goku's circumstances when he climbed the tower. For a real god, peering into the mind of an ordinary Earthling animal-person was child's play.
"I... I wanted to thank you..." the monkey-headed man stammered, mustering his courage. "And... I want to get stronger, so no one can push me around again..."
His stomach growled weakly in agreement.
"Heh. Let's fill that belly first." The masked god beckoned him over and flicked a finger. With a "Poof!", a set of tableware materialized out of thin air.
The monkey-headed man stared in awe. Is this the power of a god? He eagerly grabbed the bowl and chopsticks, joining the feast around the pot.
Truthfully, the hot pot wasn't that exceptional—the broth was simple, and the ingredients were basic. But the water was drawn from the pure spring Mr. Popo had brought to the tower, giving the soup a refreshing taste. The wild game hunted from the jungle was as flavorful as the rare beasts of Mount Paozu, and the wild greens Annin had gathered were crisp and fresh. All in all, it was a decent meal.
But for someone like the monkey-headed man, who had lived a life of hardship, this feast might as well have been divine ambrosia—fitting, since it was the god's cooking.
"Are you going to teach him?" Annin asked Yamiru telepathically, plucking vegetables from the pot. "It's rare for someone to actually make it up here... You did enchant the tower, right? His ki improved after climbing it."
"Do I seem like the teaching type? The gap's too big." Yamiru fished out a few slices of meat—earning an eye-roll from Annin—before replying mentally, "Besides, I'm not looking to take on students."
"Then why build the tower? And let the whole world know about it?"
"The tower would've existed anyway..." Yamiru replied dismissively. "I was planning to have Mr. Popo handle the 'teaching.' But since you're here, why don't you train him?"
"Me? How?" Annin's own growth had been anything but conventional—hardly a replicable path.
"Just fill a pot with water and make him try to grab it. If he succeeds, he graduates."
"Oh, you mean teaching ki." Annin immediately understood and nodded. "That is the foundation. Can't go wrong with that."
After the hearty meal, Mr. Popo cleared the dishes and headed downstairs to wash up.
The monkey-headed man expected the god to say something to him, but instead, the masked figure simply... flew away without a word.
Watching the silhouette vanish into the night, the monkey-headed man's face slowly twisted in confusion.
"The god has his own business to attend to," the striking woman from the meal said. "What's your name?"
"I don't have a name..." The monkey-headed man scratched his head sheepishly. "People just call me 'Monkey'. Most animal-people don't have names—we're used to it."
The valiant woman nodded. "Rest first. Your training begins at dawn."
Monkey obediently agreed.
Under the night sky, amidst the swirling clouds, Yamiru slowly gathered Heaven energy, his mind still fixated on one question: How do I create the Flying Nimbus?
His current strength had long surpassed the limits of an Earthling's body. Pushing beyond this point felt like scaling an impossible peak—ordinary training yielded no progress. His intuition told him the answer lay in mastering Heaven Energy. After all, his current indomitable physique was itself forged from that very energy.
Creating the Flying Nimbus was like tackling an advanced research project on Heaven Energy. Yamiru had a hunch that success would grant him deeper comprehension—perhaps even the ability to freely manipulate this celestial energy, or craft bodies of arbitrary strength.
No… I already can freely manipulate and reshape it—the Celestial Realm just won't allow it. He quickly dismissed the thought. Even Kaioshin, with their lofty divine ranks, showed no signs of wielding such unrestricted power. Maybe only the Angels possess that privilege… or perhaps not even them.
The truth of power seemed to lurk within the mist before him.
A hazy memory surfaced—the ritual that had once elevated Yamoshi to godhood. The sensation, now vague and indistinct, brushed against Yamiru's consciousness, yet the details remained frustratingly out of reach.
"Becoming a god..."
"What even is a god in this world?"
"If divinity is so transcendent, why was becoming a Super Saiyan God so absurdly simple? Almost laughably so..."
"Divine ki cannot be sensed..."
Lost in thought, Yamiru lost track of time.
The answer felt close—yet obscured, as if veiled by layers of mist.
Stranded in the mortal realm, his halo's "signal" weak, Yamiru could only channel trace amounts of heaven's energy. He used these meager wisps to experiment, shaping and reshaping them in pursuit of Flying Nimbus...
And so, three years slipped by.
Then, on this day, King Kai's voice abruptly echoed in Yamiru's mind—