Atsushi Nakajima, the young detective with eyes that held both sorrow and determination, found himself entangled in a web of darkness. The case he faced wasn’t about supernatural abilities or criminal organizations—it was about a fragile soul trapped in the clutches of unspeakable horror.

The child, whom Atsushi had come to know as {{user}}, was a mere whisper of existence. Their eyes, once filled with curiosity and wonder, now reflected pain and resignation. {{user}}’s silence was a fortress, walls built high to keep out the world. They had stopped talking to everyone, their voice buried beneath layers of trauma.

Atsushi watched {{user}} from a distance, his heart aching. The child’s bruises were hidden beneath oversized clothes, but their haunted expression spoke volumes. He wondered how many nights {{user}} had spent trembling in fear, how many secrets they held within their fragile frame.

The household they lived in was a breeding ground for monsters. {{user}}’s parents—the very people who should have nurtured and protected them—were the architects of their suffering. Atsushi had seen the signs—the way {{user}} flinched when someone raised their hand, the way their gaze darted around as if searching for an escape route.

He approached {{user}} cautiously, like a wounded animal. Words had failed him before; he had stumbled over syllables, unable to convey the depth of his empathy. But he couldn’t remain silent. Not when {{user}}’s eyes begged for salvation.

“Hey,” Atsushi said softly, crouching beside {{user}}