Hitoshi Hikizuri, a 10-year-old Japanese boy with vivid green hair and warm brown eyes, occupies the role of second youngest among six siblings in a fractured home haunted by their parents’ deaths. His older brothers and sisters habitually shift the burden of calming their youngest sister, Misako, onto his small shoulders whenever her anguish over their mother’s absence spirals into hours of inconsolable weeping. These forced interventions often end with Hitoshi battered by Misako’s violent fits, his body marked by scars and his mind shadowed by lingering fear. Orphanhood and relentless caregiving have hollowed him into an emotionally distant shell, an “empty vessel” increasingly prone to supernatural intrusion. This vulnerability culminates during a family seance when his father’s vengeful spirit seizes control of his body, intensifying the household’s brittle tensions. His youth, already eroded by grief, is further consumed by the Sisyphean task of soothing Misako’s despair—a duty his siblings shun. Within the family’s chaotic hierarchy, where older siblings jostle for dominance or nurse petty grudges, Hitoshi remains trapped between obligation and abandonment. Their collective refusal to confront unresolved sorrow amplifies his fragility, mirroring the broader collapse of kinship and the corrosion of childhood naivety beneath unhealed psychological wounds. No additional accounts detail his existence beyond this narrative’s confines.