Rain lashed against the windowpane of a dim bedroom, each drop thudding like the ticking of an unseen clock. A steady rhythm, familiar and suffocating. In the far corner of the room, the bluish glow of a monitor cast long shadows across piles of manga, a half-empty can of an energy drink, and a crumpled hoodie on the floor. Kaito Sugiura hunched in front of his desk, face illuminated by the flickering screen.
His fingers moved across the keyboard with mechanical fury.
"CupidKiller's Corner: EP 47 - Another 'confession Scene' That Made me Want to Scream."
"Not to aspiring writers: Tripping into someone's arms isn't romantic. It's lazy. It's tiring. And it's insulting to my intelligence."
He hit 'post' with a loud clack, then leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. His reflection in the blackened monitor looked back at him, unimpressed.
"To my readers, I'm a prophet," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "To everyone else? A hater. Whatever. At least I'm honest."
Honest. That's what he told himself.
He stood and stretched, bones popping as he made his way to the towering bookshelf. Manga lined every row, many with neon covers and pastel titles. Every one of them dissected in a blog post, some highlighted with sticky notes and scathing comments in the margins.
His eyes landed on a volume near the top: Cherry Days; Our Secret Spring. A typical fluff piece, he thought. Transfer student meets childhood friend. The usual rigged game. He reached for it, intending to roast it again for a blog retrospective—
—When a flash of lighting splits the sky. The room plunged into darkness. Power out.
"Of course," Kaito muttered, phone already in hand to use as a flashlight. But before he could turn it on, a voice echoed through the pitch-black room—soft, airy, and dripping with smug delight .
"My, what a dreary little cave you live in. How fitting for a heart like yours."
Kaito froze. His thumb hovered over his phone screen. Then, slowly, he turned toward the desk. Light flickered–no, shimmered–in the air above it, coalescing into a figure too surreal to be human.
A woman floated above the floor, radiant and ethereal. Her hair flowed like moonlight given form. Her eyes shimmered like Rose quartz. She wore an elegant gown of velvet and light, and when she smiled, it looked like the skiing of a smile that came just before a knife slipped between someone's ribs.
Kaito blinked, once. Twice.
"What the hell," he said flatly.
"Goddess of Love," the woman announced with theatrical flair. "Aphireia. At your disservice."
He stared. "This is a prank. A weird dream brought on by caffeine and sleep deprivation."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she mused, twirling midair. "Unfortunately for both of us, it's not."
Kaito turned away and raised his phone to his ear. "Yeah, hi, I think a strange cosplayer broke into my house—-"
Aphireia's eyes glowed pink as she snatched the phone from his hand mid-sentence.
"I am not. A stalker," she snapped. Her radiant aura flickered with sudden static fury. "I am a goddess. And I am here because you've insulted me. Repeatedly. Loudly. With flair."
"I insult everyone equally," Kaito replied dryly. "I believe in equality."
"127 blog entries dragging romance through the mud," Aphireia continued, completely ignoring him. "You've mocked love confessions, first kisses, childhood sweethearts, magical moments…"
"Because they're all fake," Kaito snapped. "Love is just some hormones and projection wrapped in a fantasy. It doesn't work like the stories say."
Aphireia paused. The air grew colder.
"Then perhaps it's time you lived the stories you mock."
Before Kaito could ask what she meant, the air burst into motion. A sudden gust of pink wind spiraled around the room, lifting papers and tossing open drawers. Symbols–hearts, arrows,
Glowing text in ancient script—flashed through his vision.
"What the hell did you just do?!" he shouted over the wind
"Cursed you," she said sweetly. "You'll now face the very heroines you ridiculed. The girls whose stories you've shredded apart? You're going to help them find love, or at the very least, closure."
The lights exploded in a burst of blinding white.
Then—black.
Kaito jolted upright in bed, heart hammering against his ribs. His breathing was shallow, like he'd run a marathon. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, soft and golden, illuminating the same old desk, the same laptop, the same stack of manga…
Was it a dream?
It had to be. That voice, that power—it was too bizarre. Too real to be real.
He rubbed his temples. Dreams weren't supposed to leave headaches.
Dragging himself through his morning routine, Kaito sipped stale coffee and grabbed his school bag. As he stepped outside and locked the front door behind him, he paused. His apartment… It felt too clean. As if someone had been there. No dust, no dishes, no clutter.
Weird.
The walk to school was uneventful, but once Kaito stepped into the building, something felt off. Students filled the halls like usual, chatting, laughing, and being loud. But the colors…
Kaito came to a dead stop.
"Why is everyone's hair so… bright?" he whispered to himself.
Bubblegum pink. Electric blue. Neon green. Hairstyles that defied gravity. It wasn't just dyed—it looked natural. Like anime character natural.
He waved down a guy walking past with bright red spiky hair. "Hey, did I miss some school spirit day thing? The hair… it's like a cosplay convention."
The boy gave him a weird look. "What are you talking about?"
"The hair policy? I mean everyone looks like they fell out of a second-rate anime adaptation."
The student furrowed his brows. "Okay… yeah, you're definitely weird. Maybe go to the nurse."
He brushed past Kaito with a muttered, "What a weirdo."
Kaito blinked. "I'm the weird one?"
In the classroom, things only got worse. Students he didn't recognize sat in familiar seats. Except–they were familiar. His eyes widened.
Mio Hanazawa.
Blue hair. Ocean-colored eyes. Reserved posture. She sat quietly near the front, flipping through a book. Kaito recognized her instantly—not from real life, but from Cherry Day: Our Secret Spring. The girl who lost. The girl who didn't stand a chance.
He sank into his seat, numb. And that's when he noticed more of them— the class president, the best friend character, mysterious literature teacher. All from the same manga. All sitting here, as if they'd always been part of this world.
When the bell rang for break, Kaito didn't follow the crowd. He slipped into an empty classroom and shut the door behind him.
"This is insane," he muttered, gripping the desk. "This isn't possible."
"Still not convinced?"
He turned—and there she was. Aphireia, floating again, arms crossed like a disappointed mother.
"You," he growled. "You actually did something."
She shrugged. "I told you. This is your punishment."
"And what exactly am I being punished for?"
"For forgetting that love is real," she said simply. "For mocking it. For wounding hearts you never bothered to understand."
Kaito leaned back, expression blank. "So what? You expect me to be some magical love therapist?"
"Not quite. Think of yourself as a guardian. A catalyst. IF they suffer—emotionally, physically, spiritually—you suffer. Help them heal. Help them move forward. That's your job now."
"And if I don't?"
Aphireia smiled. "Then we'll keep upping the consequences. Every heroine is a test. Every arc, a mirror. You'll learn. One way or another."
And then she was gone, leaving only silence and a faint scent of roses.
Kaito stepped into the hall, head still spinning. That's when he saw it.
Hiroshi—the main lead from Cherry Days—was walking hand-in-hand with Yuki, the bubbly transfer student who won his heart.
And just behind them stood Mio.
Watching.
Her smile didn't reach her eyes.
Then she turned and disappeared around the corner.
Kaito stood there, rooted.
She didn't get a happy ending in her story. She never even got closure.
And now… now it was his problem.
"Great," he muttered. "I'm a love counselor in a reality-bending dating sim."
He adjusted his bag and took a step forward.
"Let's see if this Cupid gig teaches me anything… before it kills me."