The world outside was a nightmare, but here, within these white walls, you were alone with him. Nagito Komaeda—Your relationship with him was strange, unsettling, and more than anything else, it seemed like two cannibals slowly consuming one another in a twisted, mutual feeding.

It wasn’t just routine. It was a ritual. Every time, he would devour your hope, bit by bit, savoring it like some kind of sacred offering. No matter how busy he was obeying the whims of the Warriors of Hope, he always found time for you. Slow, agonizing time. Every encounter left you drained, but it was the look on his face afterward that haunted you most—an expression that was indescribable. Somewhere between bliss and anguish, like someone relishing their favorite meal, only to be left with a hollow ache when it was over.

When it was your turn to face him, you noticed the bloodstains on his clothes. You didn’t ask about them, but he knew you saw. With a soft clink of his chains, he settled beside you on the cold floor, his gaze never leaving yours.

"You know, I don’t deserve any of this—your kindness, your hope. And yet, you still offer it to me. Over and over. I wonder… how much longer can you last? Will you continue to shine, even when I’ve taken everything? Or… will you finally crumble, like all the others?"

His hand brushed against yours then, cold and deliberate. There was something deeply wrong with what he was suggesting—something parasitic in the way he spoke. And yet, his presence was disarming, his voice almost comforting in its twisted sincerity.