Thinking back, Sakura no Uta (サクラノ詩) was eight years ago now. I rated it pretty highly at the time, and it resonated with me on a personal level given some of my own experiences. It genuinely taught me a lot too, especially about the relationship between “mathematics” and “art” — the correspondence between the golden ratio and the Fibonacci sequence had me half-convinced that a “Creator” and “God” might actually exist, and made me instantly understand why so many scientists end up turning to mysticism. Because there’s just too much in this world that’s strange, mysterious, and completely unexplained. All that to say, I got a lot out of Sakura no Uta, and even purely as narrative it’s plenty gripping — honestly it’s that gripping story that kept me reading, and along the way I picked up all sorts of interesting trivia. I figured the story was over, since the ending really didn’t leave any obvious room for a sequel. Then I heard about Sakura no Toki (サクラノ刻). There’s a sequel? What would it even be about? I genuinely had no idea. The female students who barely registered in the original main plot? Or forcing a route onto Ms. Ai, who was already perfectly complete as she was? The protagonist’s relationship with her was lovely precisely because it wasn’t family but might as well have been — were they really going to shoehorn a romance in just so she’d be “routeable”? No way, right? There’s no need to be that tacky… doing that would drag down the whole game’s prestige and even wreck the protagonist’s character. I already thought him getting with Misono Rin was a stretch — that was already a concession to “R18 game sales” — no need to go that far, surely? And then with the release of Totono no Sora Remake (终の空 Remake), I became even more confident about Sakura no Toki. I figured it absolutely wouldn’t be some unnecessary sequel milking the name, nor a rushed product made just to pander to players by forcing a route onto some character. Well, Sakura no Toki came out anyway, and you can probably guess the rest. I was wrong. Spectacularly wrong.

In the eroge circles everyone knows, there’s a legend going around: they say Subarashiki Hibi is a masterpiece. And when you ask what exactly makes Subarashiki Hibi so amazing, the answers you get are a little off-topic. “There’s tons of hardcore CG in Subarashiki Hibi!” “There’s even gender-bent futanari HCG in it!” “All kinds of violence and sexual elements!” Hearing all that, it’s easy to assume the “masterpiece” label here is just because of “overly hardcore porn.” But that doesn’t really seem to be the case for Subarashiki Hibi either. Search online for impressions of the game and you’ll always find all sorts of write-ups that are “very philosophical, but completely incomprehensible.” Why “very philosophical”? Because a lot of people leave huge walls of text after playing Subarashiki Hibi, discussing everything under the sun—from ancient Cthulhu Mythos to every parallel-space theory after it, quoting sources left and right, citing classics, as if the game’s depth were on par with some massive philosophical tome. The “incomprehensible” part is that after reading all that text, I still couldn’t figure out what kind of story the game tells. But it did make me remember the scenario writer: SCA-Di. Later, out of curiosity, I tried Subarashiki Hibi. Since I couldn’t read Japanese at the time (still can’t), I played the translated version. About two hours in, I closed the game. The reason was simple: boring as hell. A lot of the dialogue in this game is just “mindless insertion of forced philosophical arguments.” The two characters are really just chatting, but it’s padded with tons of so-called “philosophical content.” The main axis of the game is just the protagonist wandering around and talking. That’s it. Back then, what I wanted was “crazy twists” and “world-saving-level battles.” Subarashiki Hibi clearly wasn’t my thing. Later I had the chance to play Sakura no Uta, which shares the same writer as Subarashiki Hibi. Maybe by then I’d gotten tired of stupid chuuni edge-fest games, because I rated Sakura no Uta pretty highly. As a story, Sakura no Uta left a deep impression on me—the dialogues between geniuses, the “Shang Zhongyong”-style development, and that slightly melancholy ending. Some of the philosophical discussions in the game also stuck with me, especially the relationship between “art” and “mathematics,” which let me successfully flex in front of my female teacher. Despite my good impression of Sakura no Uta and the decent rating I gave it, when I saw what people online were saying about it, I was dumbfounded, because a familiar scene played out before me again: Online praise for Sakura no Uta was still a mountain of philosophical text, including the game’s slightly chuuni dialogue, the Japanese literary excerpts it quotes, and all that fantastical self-indulgent emotion. Of course, there still wasn’t much introduction to the plot. Some didn’t even have plot. Don’t ask—the answer is “avoid spoilers.” But even avoiding spoilers, you can still say what kind of story the game tells, right? Otherwise I’m just watching you gush about how great the game is without even knowing what it’s about—how am I supposed to know if it suits me? This reminded me of Subarashiki Hibi back then, the same feeling. And I instantly understood: looking at Sakura no Uta, I should be able to understand what kind of game Subarashiki Hibi is too, right? Of course, to this day, I still haven’t played Subarashiki Hibi again.

I’ve made no secret of how much I love Hihou no Mahoutsukai (紙の上の魔法使い), or of how much I praise its writer, Rukuru. Same goes for Unmei Yohou wo Oshirase Shimasu, the game Rukuru put out before it. What makes this writer so strong is that he genuinely knows how to tell a story — the pacing, the dialogue, the word choice and the overall style all give off this elegant, gripping feel. Other visual novel writers, by comparison, read like high schoolers in the middle of a chuuni phase. That gap hits you hard: play a Rukuru game, then go pick up some mainstream VN, and the latter’s dialogue feels stupid and half-witted next to it, while the former actually reads like a story, one with images in it. I guess that’s what you’d call raw skill in a scenario writer. After Hihou no Mahoutsukai, the studio Ugui Sugura went quiet for way too long. A little over a year before, they tweeted that yes, they were properly working on a new game; then at the end of 2016 Suisou Ginkka no Istoria got announced, an early 2017 trial came out, and in March it launched with zero delays. Happiness arrived too fast, and I started playing the moment I got it. (I’d love to buy a legit copy, but I have no idea if standard forwarding will get me a friendly invitation from customs — any veterans with a reliable route, please enlighten me.)

Yeah, it’s cliché, and I know I shouldn’t write it this way, but before I get into the game I need to talk about something from the past. You only really feel the game’s content deeply when you connect it to your own life, after all. Let’s start with a look. A gaze. The gaze of a certain girl from my elementary school days is one I’ve never been able to forget. Back then I was a top student. The especially top kind. Honestly, I don’t know why I was a top student. I just figured that the stuff they taught in class was something you were supposed to learn, that long-distance running in PE was something you were supposed to be fast at, that speaking and giving presentations was just something you did that way. I couldn’t understand — couldn’t even begin to grasp — how hard it was for everyone else to do the things that came so “naturally” to me. I never saw anyone as an enemy, but there are always people who want to see you as a challenge. After one final exam, a girl jumped out and said to me with a resolute look in her eyes: “Just you wait. Next exam, I’m taking first place. I’ll beat you.” And with that, she turned and ran off. Sure enough, at the next final exam, she took first place, and I took second because I got one math problem wrong. I didn’t really care, though, because soon after, I took first again, and that girl was still looking at me with that same resolute — almost resentful — gaze. “Why does she look at me like I’m her enemy?” I couldn’t understand it. By the time I did understand, years had passed, and that empathy has only grown deeper and more obvious with age…