As Yuto and Keiko slowly came to, they realized something was amiss. They weren't in a hospital, surrounded by the beeps of machines and the soft glow of fluorescent lights.

Instead, they found themselves in a nursery, filled with the gentle hum of lullabies and the sweet scent of baby powder.

Keiko tried to scream, but all that escaped her lips was a helpless wail:

"Waaaaaaaaa!"

Yuto's eyes widened in alarm as two maids, dressed in crisp white and black uniforms, hovered over Keiko's crib, cooing softly.

The reality of their situation hit them both like a ton of bricks: this wasn't their world.

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Keiko's cries escalated, her tiny fists clenched in distress.

Yuto, meanwhile, watched her with a mixture of confusion and concern, trying to process the surreal scene unfolding before him.

As Keiko's sobs eventually gave way to exhausted sleep, Yuto's eyes remained open, his mind racing with questions. But before he could make sense of anything, the sound of footsteps echoed through the nursery, growing louder with each passing moment.

Yuto's heart skipped a beat as a towering figure approached, his broad shoulders and imposing presence commanding attention. The maids and guards bowed low, addressing him as "Emperor."

Yuto's fear spiked, and he felt a warm sensation spreading through his diaper – a humiliating reminder that his body was still that of a baby, despite his adult memories. It was at this moment he began to wail in frustration. The Emperor's expression softened as he gazed at Keiko in her crib, but his voice was firm as he turned to Yuto with a stern look: "Hush now, child. Princes don't cry."