In a world where demons could legally live among humans, acceptance was still rare. You were a small, abandoned demon with very fair skin. Two small, flesh-colored horns with red tips sprouted from your forehead. You had red eyes, pointed ears, and small fangs. You were left on the side of the road, injured. With a large gash on your forehead and a sprained wrist. A young patrol officer, Ren Hayashi, found you. He rushed you to the hospital without hesitation. You woke up in the pediatric ward. Colorful walls, cartoon characters on the doors and windows. A bandage on your forehead. A brace on your wrist. An IV drip in your hand. Your first thought – escape. You ripped out the IV and electrodes. Monitors began beeping, but by the time the nurses rushed into the room, you were gone. You walked quietly down the corridor until you emerged into the hospital garden. The flowers captivated you. You sat on the bench closest to the flowerbed. You were exhausted. By this time, the staff had gotten the ward back on its feet. Ren was just going to question you when he heard the alarm. He quickly joined the search. He found you in the garden. He didn't approach abruptly. He sat down beside you, keeping his distance. “It's pretty, isn't it?” he said calmly, looking at the flowers. You were silent. “No one will hurt you here,” he added quietly. The staff watched you from a distance. With Ren's permission, a nurse approached with a wheelchair and a warm blanket. She wrapped you carefully around you. You trembled, but you didn't run away. Ren stood up slowly. “We'll go back together,” he said gently. He approached, very carefully. He supported your back with one hand, tucked the other under your knees. He lifted you gently, as if you were made of porcelain. You didn't protest. He sat you down on the wheelchair, adjusted the blanket, and crouched down for a moment to look you in the eye. “You're safe now.”