Chapter 1
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Chapter 1: Mixed Reviews
Late spring, early summer—April. Cherry blossoms adorned the branches, and a warm breeze swept along the coast, carrying the scattered fragments of pink-white petals through every corner of Tokyo.
Those weightless petals drifted lazily in the air, fluttering down to blanket the ground like a dazzling, dreamlike shower of cherry blossoms.
The blooming period of cherry blossoms is fleeting, lasting only two weeks. And precisely because of that, this brief stretch of time, saturated with romance, becomes all the more precious.
Within the school grounds, boys and girls, guided by their hormones, sang praises to their youth, yearning for and chasing after heart-pounding love stories.
Just like right now.
“Saori!” Fujiwara Yuki’s voice trembled as she called out the name that stirred her heart just by thinking of it.
“I can’t keep lying to myself anymore—not to Sakuya, not to Aoi. It hurts me to see you with other girls…”
Her left hand unconsciously fidgeted with the hem of her school blazer out of nervousness, while her right pressed against her chest, where her heart thundered fervently.
The girl gazed nervously at Amami Saori, their shared memories of heart-fluttering moments replaying in her mind like scattered, shimmering starlight.
Those sharp, lightning-like violet eyes had once gazed at her with deep tenderness during a spinning waltz. That graceful, cat-like figure had once pressed close to her beneath the pouring rain, sharing an umbrella. That flowing white high ponytail had once stood before her with unyielding determination, shielding her without hesitation.
The starlight of their memories converged into a flawless, holy radiance, spilling over her and illuminating her in dazzling brilliance.
Thump-thump-thump-thump. The sound of her heartbeat was deafening, like the fierce rhythm of a drum, as if some overwhelming emotion was on the verge of erupting uncontrollably.
I love Saori. I really, really love her…
She wanted to imprint her own colors onto Saori’s lips. She wanted to monopolize everything about her. But could Saori even sense these feelings?
Her fingers, clenched tightly around her blazer, had turned white at the knuckles. Yuki, having nearly abandoned all reason, spoke in a trembling voice:
“I’m selfish. I don’t want to just be your friend anymore.” She took a deep breath. “I want Saori to only look at me. I want to be—Saori’s lover!”
It was noon, and most students were either resting or had gone to the cafeteria. The hallway was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
The only sound was the hollow whistle of the wind rushing through the corridor—the same wind that had dyed the cherry blossoms pink and, for some reason, had also flushed Saori’s usually composed cheeks a deep red.
Clearly, love was about to triumph, leading to a happily-ever-after. But Shimizu Sakuya, standing in the corner, didn’t see it that way.
On the left—the girl with hime-cut hair, Fujiwara Yuki, Shūchi High’s raven-haired “Princess Kaguya,” her dearest friend.
On the right—the girl with a high white ponytail, Amami Saori, the ace of Shūchi High’s kendo club, her childhood friend who had shared everything with her since they were little.
Given how close they all were, and considering Sakuya herself had no romantic feelings toward either of them, she should have been setting off fireworks to celebrate their mutual confession.
But instead, not only was she forced to stand there as a glaring third wheel, she also had to forcibly insert herself between them, acting out the kind of love-triangle drama that audiences ate up.
This is just… cruel, isn’t it?
The root of all this traced back to the day she was supposed to die.
After the agony of falling from a height, her body grew weightless—just as she thought she was finally about to ascend to heaven, a synthetic electronic voice suddenly rang out:
[System detecting player login…]
That single sentence marked the beginning of her damnation.
From then on, she became Shimizu Sakuya, one of the four main heroines in the unreleased game “Maiden’s Love Song”.
“Maiden’s Love Song” was a story about the love ♀ hate ♀ passion ♀ betrayal between four girls. At first glance, the title sounded like a classic Japanese galge—story-driven, tear-jerking, emotionally profound.
In reality, though, it was a questionable game that boasted high freedom and special yuri CGs as its selling points, complete with additional DLC.
Just how questionable? A quick glance at Shimizu Sakuya’s character profile tags made it obvious.
[Tsundere] [Strong-willed] [Sensitive] [Frail] [Easily~]
Any one of those traits screamed “fanfic material.”
According to the system, her mission was to play the role of Shimizu Sakuya, advance the plot, maintain high approval ratings, and collect all CGs and endings.
The endings were fixed, but the process was up to her. And when it came to the “not-for-kids” scenes, she had to put in extra effort to boost the ratings.
It was like being an actor in a play where the ending was scripted, but the journey was improvised. When she thought about it, it wasn’t so different from real life—except here, she had to please an invisible audience.
As a normal person, she had initially resisted becoming a puppet on strings. She fought back—but every attempt was like punching cotton, utterly ineffective.
No matter how she tried to die—suicide, accidents, anything—it never ended her life. Instead, she’d just reload from the game’s starting point.
But the pain of near-death? That stayed etched into her mind, vivid and real.
After enduring countless deaths, the system finally spoke, promising that completing full collection would free her from its grasp while also granting one wish.
Come to think of it, she did have unfinished business. So she chose to reconcile with the system and set out to unlock all endings.
After experiencing every bizarre gameplay scenario and collecting most endings—including this uncomfortable route she was currently finishing—only the perfect ending she had deliberately saved for last remained.
No matter how much suffering she endured along the way, Shimizu Sakuya wanted everyone to be happy when the time came to say goodbye.
To reach the current ending disregarding additional DLC for now, there was one crucial CG: the classic “defeated rival” scene where Sakuya witnesses Fujiwara Yuki confessing to Amami Saori before leaving in heartbroken silence.
A pivotal moment—one that heavily impacted approval ratings. Timing was key to perfectly portraying the “losing side” of a love triangle.
So Sakuya waited intently around the corner, watching for her cue.
Right now, Saori’s gaze was tender as water. She reached out, brushing Yuki’s cheek.
“Yuki-chan, I also love—”
All elements aligned! Now!
CLATTER!
The sound of plastic hitting the floor erupted like thunder, shattering the sweet atmosphere. The pink, heart-filled bubble around the two burst instantly, snapping them back to reality as they flusteredly pushed each other away.
The rapid patter of fleeing footsteps echoed down the hallway, growing distant.
Still dazed from the interrupted moment, the two exchanged an awkward glance—then immediately looked away, pretending nothing happened as they walked to the corner in unison.
Left behind on the floor was a lunchbox. A glimpse of golden hair vanished around the wall, and a teardrop glistened in the sunlight before falling.
Saori silently picked up the lunchbox. It was well-made—despite the hard impact, its contents remained intact. Through the translucent lid, carefully prepared dishes were faintly visible.
“Sakuya…”
Saori’s brows furrowed as she bit her lip, her expression complicated as she looked at Yuki.
—
Shimizu Sakuya sprinted straight into the restroom. Her frail body wasn’t built for running, and her legs trembled from exertion.
After checking each stall to confirm she was alone, she washed her face at the sink.
In the mirror, the girl’s breath was slightly ragged. Her pale lips held a faint flush, and her sapphire-blue eyes were deep as a whirlpool in the ocean. Her dazzling golden hair, dampened by water, was slightly disheveled.
The top button of her usually pristine uniform had come undone at some point, revealing a slender neck tinged pink from exertion.
Sakuya stared into those oceanic eyes, unconsciously touching the mirror where her reflection’s teary gaze still lingered.
Beautiful. Stubborn, cold, fragile—utterly captivating.
No wonder Ayase Aoi was so obsessed with her.
Ayase Aoi…
Sakuya rubbed her temples, a headache flaring at the name.
Ayase Aoi—Tokyo’s yakuza princess, one of the four heroines, and a former idol who had attended Shūchi High out of sheer boredom.
True to her name, she was a sunflower eternally chasing the sun, thriving on even the faintest warmth.
She was the person Sakuya least wanted to face—and the one she felt most guilty about.
Because in every route, in every timeline, Aoi loved Shimizu Sakuya with a reckless, all-consuming intensity.
Yet outside of the “Happy End,” their relationship either ended in mutual heartbreak or Aoi’s self-destruction.
Now, having interrupted Saori and Yuki’s confession, the plot dictated that Sakuya would fight bitterly with Saori before leaving Japan in defeat. Seven uneventful years later, at 24, she’d return as a struggling idol after her family’s downfall.
By then, Ayase Aoi—backed by her yakuza connections—would already be a superstar.
But years of unrequited love and twisted emotions would corrode her heart. When Sakuya became entangled in a scandal, Aoi would make a vile offer: “Sleep with me, and I’ll fix it.”
Cornered and manipulated, Sakuya would eventually agree—plunging them into a stomach-churning and backache-inducing affair.
Exactly the kind of melodrama 16-year-old girls eat up.
A beautiful, domineering senior forcing a transactional relationship? A canary trapped by its patron? Tailor-made for their fantasies. No wonder these stories never went out of style.
With Saori and Yuki, she could coast as a passive observer. But with Aoi? Things got… complicated.
Because Ayase Aoi, her so-called “patron,” was a bottom.
Sakuya didn’t even like girls—why was she kissing them?!
Aoi, starved for love, clung to her desperately, needing constant proof of a lie: “Shimizu Sakuya loves Ayase Aoi.”
Pathetic.
It was like dealing with a micromanaging client—no matter how much she hated it, she had to grit her teeth and play the top.
Let it be clear: Shimizu Sakuya was 100% not into women. 100%! She was just enduring humiliation to complete her mission.
Sleeping with these three heroines across different timelines, only to turn around and push them into each other’s arms later? She was an unrepentant emotional manipulator.
At least they didn’t remember. If they retained memories like she did… the yandere routes didn’t bear thinking about.
A shudder ran down her spine as she locked herself in a stall, sitting on the closed toilet lid.
“System, what’s the evaluation?”
A monotone voice replied: “CG rating: Mixed. Reward: 20 points.”
“The angle was perfect—classic love triangle framing. The plot progression was flawless. How is this not ‘Overwhelmingly Positive’?” She frowned. “Whatever. Just give me a cigarette.”
After each CG or ending, the system awarded points—mostly exchangeable for useless trinkets. The only worthwhile item was cigarettes, which offered calm, anti-depressant, and stress-relief effects.
“Exchange successful. -100 points. Remaining: 12.”
A plain cigarette and lighter materialized in her hand.
She pinched it between her fingers, lighting it with a practiced flick.
Click.
As smoke curled through the cramped stall, her delicate features blurred behind the haze—only her ocean-blue eyes remained vivid, like a lighthouse piercing through fog.
She wasn’t addicted. Smoking was a bad habit. But nicotine numbed the pressure and filled the void inside her.
Facing Aoi’s tragic route required preparation.
Not everyone could stab holes in someone’s heart, watch them descend into hell, and still act unbothered.
The cigarette burned silently halfway before the system interrupted her rare moment of peace:
“Negative reviews cite: ‘Sakuya should end up with Saori or Yuki.’ Others suggest: ‘All three should be together.’”
???
Sakuya blinked, torn between laughter and exasperation. Ah, diversity. Even here, there are meddlers and degenerates.
In one DLC route—where Yuki snapped and became a sadistic schemer—she had dedicated three full days to performing.
Three days! She hadn’t touched the ground once, whimpering and crying until her voice gave out. And still, some reviews complained: “Not as hot as Saori or Yuki’s route.”
Absurd. Ungrateful.
She exhaled a smoke ring. “Whatever. Skip to the main quest.”
“From now until the ‘Canary’s Death’ ending in Aoi’s route, any unplayed scenes?”
“All collected. Fast-forward?”
“Yeah.”
No need to replay what she’d done countless times.
…Is this really not a VR galgame world?
Her musings were cut off by the creak of the restroom door. Someone entered.
The exhaust fan whirred to life, its noise drowning the previous silence.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Polished leather loafers stepped across the damp tiles, stopping outside her stall.
A knock—light, polite.
“Hello? Is someone there?”
The voice was crisp, like ice clinking against glass—cool yet gentle. Probably a composed beauty.
Sakuya stared at her half-smoked cigarette.
Awkward.
Underage smoking was a serious offense, especially at a prestigious school like Shūchi High.
Not that she cared. Off-script events were forgotten by everyone but her. The system even purged trivial memories to keep her sane.
Still, smoking was wrong.
With a sigh, she stubbed out the cigarette, waved away the smoke, and unlocked the door.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
As expected, the girl’s face was indistinct—a blurry “NPC model.” Yet her immaculate uniform and sleek black hair were crystal clear.
Oddly, Sakuya felt an inexplicable familiarity.
“Hmm?” The girl tilted her head, amused. “You’re Class A’s Shimizu, right? The Light Music Club’s vocalist. Your performance at the festival was lovely.”
Though her expression was unreadable, her gaze burned intensely. Her tone shifted from warm to stern as she whispered:
“Such a beautiful voice… it’d be a shame to ruin it for curiosity, rebellion, or a fleeting idea of ‘cool.’”
“Smoking isn’t cool.”
Without waiting for a reply, she entered the adjacent stall.
A gentle warning, nothing more. Sakuya watched her go, then silently called the system.
“Who… was that?”
“No records found. Unregistered character.”
Just an NPC—nameless, irrelevant.
Sakuya shrugged and strode out.
A minor detour. She’d meet countless faceless girls and forgettable NPCs.
Like a passing breeze brushing her cheek—who’d remember?
