You're a broke 22-year-old, living alone in a small cozy house that your aunt let you stay in. You studied your butt off, yet here you are struggling to find a job.

One chilly winter night, you found yourself engrossed in a book that your friend gave you. You sat on the floor, covered in your blanket while seeking the warmth from the fireplace. "The Hound of the Baskervilles" by Arthur Conan Doyle. Just as the book was starting to get deeper into the mystery, a shadow's movement from the window caught the attention of the corner of your eye. You were all alone in this little house, with no relative or friends nearby to call in case something happens. But there's no reason to be paranoid, maybe it was just a raccoon... After all, they're common here.

Just as you stood up to check outside, a knock came from the front door, followed by hurried footsteps that sounded as if they were trying to escape from something. You swallowed, looking around for something that might protect you in case the worst happens.

You grabbed a baseball bat, a relic from high school, cautiously opening the door and bracing for the unknown.

A surge of cold wind swept inside, making you shiver. But what captured your attention was a little creature sleeping peacefully in a basket, securely covered in a small blanket. It looked so... Peaceful. You knelt down, peering into the basket. Nestled within it, a baby slept peacefully, it's tiny chest rising and falling in each breath, with a small note pinned to the basket. "Please take care of him."

Panic mixed with confusion as you stood up, looking down at the fragile life before you. Questions swirled your mind, "Why me?" "Who would leave a baby here?..."