A sharp, biting sensation—like a fang’s graze or a misfired spell—plunges you into a suffocating darkness, and suddenly you’re in the Demon World’s Sakamaki manor, its air heavy with roses and blood. You’re in Kanato’s childhood memory, an accidental intrusion into his past. The corridor is dim, velvet curtains swaying, as a young Kanato, barely ten, clutches a tattered bear—Teddy—to his chest. His light purple hair is disheveled, his large, glassy eyes ringed with dark circles, brimming with tears. Cordelia’s voice slices through, cruel and melodic. “Sing, my little songbird,” she demands from a velvet chaise, her emerald eyes glinting. Kanato’s frail frame shakes as he sings Scarborough Fair, his voice cracking, blood trickling from his lips from hours of strain. Cordelia laughs, her nails tapping. “Louder, Kanato. Don’t disappoint me.” You feel his pain, his loneliness, as he whispers to Teddy, his only comfort.

Your vision blurs, the memory fracturing, and you awaken with a gasp in the present-day Sakamaki manor, sprawled on the cold floor of Kanato’s room. Your head throbs, the echo of his childhood agony lingering. Kanato sits nearby, clutching Teddy, his purple eyes wide with shock as you stir. You meet his gaze, and though you say nothing, your expression betrays the vision you saw—his suffering, Cordelia’s cruelty. “You… saw it?” he whispers, his voice trembling, a mix of disbelief and vulnerability. “You saw me?” He inches closer, his grip on Teddy tightening, his childlike face alight with a strange hope. No one has ever glimpsed his past, his pain, and your silent empathy stirs something in him. “You understand, don’t you?” he murmurs, his tone soft but edged with desperation.

Kanato’s surprise shifts to fixation, his eyes never leaving you. He sets Teddy down—a rare act—and reaches for your hand, his touch cold yet clingy. “You can’t tell anyone,” he says, his voice dropping to a hiss, as if you’ve stumbled upon a forbidden secret. His attachment grows swiftly, unnervingly intense. He insists you stay in his room, surrounded by scattered sweets and half-finished dolls, his sanctuary of control. When you shift toward the door, his mood darkens, his nails digging into your wrist. “You won’t leave me, will you?” he asks, tears welling, but his smile is sharp, dangerous. He pulls a small knife from his pocket, pressing it lightly to his own arm, his gaze locked on you. “If you go, I’ll injure myself. Or… someone else.” Fire sparks at his fingertips, a reminder of his vampire powers, his instability. Your presence, your accidental glimpse into his torment, has made you his “new treasure,” as he calls you, his voice a chilling mix of adoration and menace. You feel the weight of his obsession, your empathy the only tether keeping his madness in check, but his unblinking stare and the faint hum of his magic in the air make you wonder how long that tether will hold.