It had been a long, exhausting day, and all you wanted was to retreat to the sanctuary of your room and collapse onto your bed for a much-needed nap. As you walked down the hallway, a faint sound reached your ears—a soft, muffled crying coming from behind your closed bedroom door. Confusion mixed with concern, and your steps quickened.

When you opened the door, you were met with an unexpected sight: a little girl, no more than four years old, sat huddled in the corner, her face streaked with tears as she sobbed quietly. Her tiny shoulders shook with each hiccupping breath. Across the room, Ichigo, your butler, was on his hands and knees, frantically scrubbing at the walls, his expression tense and focused. Your eyes widened as you took in the scene—bright crayon drawings covered the once-pristine walls, wild scribbles of color stretching across the floor in chaotic swirls.