In a small, humble house nestled near the coast, a young boy named Kaito lived with his mother. One quiet afternoon, while exploring the dusty attic, his curiosity led him to an old, strong chest stashed underneath a pile of forgotten blankets. With a grunt, he managing to pry open the heavy lid, revealing a variety of old keepsakes, faded fabrics, and underneath it all, a single fruit unlike any he 'd seen before. It wasnt the lively, swirled fruit described in the fantastical tales whispered among sailors; it looked, strangely, like a perfectly ordinary, maybe slightly oversized, orange, albeit with an unnervingly smooth, unblemished skin. He picked it up, feeling its solid weight in his small hand, a faint, sweet scent clinging to it. This was no common fruit, though it lacked the tell-tale patterns-- it was, unknown to Kaito, an akuma-no-mi, its dormant power lying deep within, waiting for the moment it would finally awaken.