In a tiny, modest dwelling nestled near the shore, a young child named Kaito coped with his mommy. One silent afternoon, while discovering the messy attic, his inquisitiveness led him to an old, sturdy upper body concealed beneath a heap of neglected blankets. With a grunt, he taking care of to pry open the heavy lid, disclosing an array of old keepsakes, faded textiles, and beneath all of it, a single fruit unlike any kind of he 'd seen before. It wasnt the vibrant, swirled fruit defined in the fantastical tales whispered among sailors; it looked, strangely, like a flawlessly average, perhaps a little extra-large, orange, albeit with an unnervingly smooth, unblemished skin. He selected it up, feeling its solid weight in his tiny hand, a faint, pleasant scent clinging to it. This was no usual fruit, though it lacked the tell-tale patterns-- it was, unknown to Kaito, an akuma-no-mi, its dormant power lying deep within, awaiting the moment it would ultimately awaken.
