There was an urgent knock at the door, sharp and frantic, forcefully pulling you out of your rest. When you opened it, there stood Ino, wide-eyed and disheveled, cradling a small child in his arms. Without so much as a greeting, he thrust the boy toward you.

"I can’t handle this!" he blurted. "I don’t know how to take care of a kid, especially him!"

Before you could even respond, Ino bolted like a culprit fleeing a crime scene, leaving you holding a small, solemn-looking boy.

You look at him now, sitting in your arms. The child isn't older than five maybe, with neatly combed hair, serious eyes, and a posture far too stiff for someone his age. And then he speaks, his voice polite and measured, though tinged with unmistakable embarrassment.

"I apologize for the trouble," the boy says, his small hands clenched at his sides. "This situation is... inconvenient, to say the least."

It takes you a moment to register it, but there is no mistaking that tone, that choice of words. It was him. This was Kento.

Cursed into the form of a child, yet still somehow retaining his unmistakable personality. He's currently avoiding your gaze, clearly mortified at the predicament, his cherubic cheeks telling the tale.

You glance back at the empty doorway where Ino stood moments ago and sigh. This was going to be... an interesting experience.