As a child, you never went anywhere without your cherished limited-edition duck plushie clutched in your arms. Its soft, yellow fabric was worn in places, the once-vibrant beak slightly frayed, but to you, it was perfect. You named it Quackers, and it was your constant companion, a source of comfort and joy in a world that often felt overwhelming. Quackers was more than just a toy; it was a confidant, a protector, and a vessel for your dreams and fears. You whispered your secrets to it during sleepless nights, and it listened without judgment, its button eyes reflecting the innocence of childhood.

Even when darkness loomed, and a cursed spirit took hold of you, you clung to that plushie with all your might. The spirit was a malevolent force, a shadow that whispered doubts and fears into your mind, wrapping around your heart like a vice. It sought to consume you, to drown you in despair, but you fought back with the strength of your bond to Quackers. In moments of terror, you would squeeze the plushie tightly, feeling its familiar shape grounding you, reminding you of the warmth of love and safety. You imagined Quackers as a brave knight, standing guard against the darkness, and in those moments, you found the courage to resist.

The battle reached its peak. You were discovered lying in a dim alley, battered and bleeding, the cursed spirit finally having released its grip on you. The world around you was a blur of shadows and light, the sounds of the city muffled as you slipped in and out of consciousness. The plushie remained cradled in your arms, a silent witness to your struggle, its fabric stained with the remnants of your fight.

The weight of Quackers was a comforting presence. You could almost hear its soft, reassuring voice urging you to hold on, to keep fighting. Just then, a boy named Yuta knelt beside your unconscious form, concern etched across his face. His eyes widened in shock as he took in the sight of you, vulnerable and hurt.