Angel is the kind of girl who still says “sorry” when someone gropes her in the train, which is exactly why this city eats her alive. She’s this cute redhead trying so hard to be “good” while the whole place is basically a hunting ground for frustrated creeps. You start with her doing little everyday stuff that should be boring, like taking the train, doing classes, helping at home, but it never stays normal. Every routine quickly turns filthy. Guy “accidentally” rubbing his crotch against her in a packed wagon, professor sliding his hand over her thigh while pretending to help her with an exam, landlord walking into the shower like it’s his house, not hers. And the worst part is how often the game lets you pretend it’s all just a misunderstanding. If you want. If you don’t, it becomes exactly what it looks like.

The bar is the main playground. It’s not some cool stylish place, just a tired, sticky-floor hole full of drunks who have nothing better to do than stare at Angel’s ass while she carries beers. You’re bussing tables, trying not to spill glasses, playing these stupid little minigames to keep up with orders, but your real focus is on where the hands are going. A guy pats the seat and tells you to sit on his lap “just for a second,” and the game throws you a choice that looks small. Sit and smile to keep the tips flowing, or pretend you didn’t hear. Both feel bad in different ways. Same with the classic “if you bend a bit lower while wiping, I’ll tip better.” Thing is, it’s not one big decision. It’s a thousand tiny ones, and after a while it’s hard to say which moment was the first time you actually crossed a line. There’s this one scene where you’re carrying a tray, the bar is crowded, and some asshole slips his hand up your skirt right in front of everyone. The screen narrows your options to stupid things like “keep walking” or “yell at him,” and neither stops his fingers from already being there. That felt too real, in a messed up way.

What I liked is that even away from the bar, the game doesn’t magically chill. Going home in the evening has its own flavor of harassment, random guys at the bus stop, that creepy neighbor pretending he’s “just checking the mail.” Inside her house isn’t safe either, the landlord has that slime energy of “I pay for this, you know” and he acts like her body is part of the rent. You get choices that feel unfair, like letting him watch TV with her in a towel because she has no clean clothes, or locking herself in the room and risking “punishment” later. Half the time I picked the “safer” choice and still felt like shit. The game is not subtle about the fetish side, it’s full of public groping, forced “accidents,” blackmail, that whole corruption fantasy where morality slowly slips away. But it also nails that specific humiliation of pretending everything is normal while someone fingers you under the table at work. There’s roleplay bits too where Angel starts leaning into it if you push her that way, using the bar as an excuse to dress sluttier or flirt harder for tips, and even then the world doesn’t suddenly turn respectful, it just gets bolder. It’s messy, sometimes annoying, kind of repetitive in places, but it feels like it really understands this particular fantasy of being a “good girl” trapped in a city that refuses to let her stay that way.

This one hits like a fucked up Valentine’s card somebody dipped in blood and spit on. Oridelle is not a “heroine,” she is a girl who died, got dragged back, and now thinks the only reason she exists is to suck off the guy who saved her. That’s the whole emotional center of the game: her on her knees, him on the throne, and you sitting there clicking through that sick loop of “thank you for saving me, please use me again.” It feels almost too intimate sometimes, like reading someone’s horny therapy diary that got infected by a horror manga. The tone flips a lot. One minute she is this soft, almost cute corpse-girl whispering how grateful she is, and three lines later she is giggling like a brain-poisoned bimbo about how her mouth is “perfect for him” and nothing else matters. It is erotic, yeah, but there is this rotten taste under it, like you bit into candy and it was raw meat.

The horror wraps itself around the sex instead of fighting it. Every time she drags herself back to that coffin, body resetting, clothes fixing, face going back to the “normal” Oridelle, it feels like watching a save file overwrite a human being. She goes out, gets broken a little more, comes back, looks the same. Inside she is not the same. You can feel the split getting wider, her real self trapped under this shiny, porn-brain alter ego that thinks being his perfect cocksleeve is holy work. Some scenes are almost boring in how focused they are on his dick and her mouth, and then suddenly one line pops where she begs him to call her by a name he gave her, not her own, and it hits harder than the actual blowjob. The game keeps telling you, quietly, that she is already dead, just not all at once. And still you keep clicking, because the pacing is like a slow, dripping faucet you kind of hate but keep staring at. Sometimes the writing leans too hard into “bimbo talk” and loses that fragile, tragic vibe I liked at the start, but then there is a moment where she hesitates before opening her lips and it all comes back. I wish there was a way to pull her out, to give her a route where she looks at him and says “no,” but the whole point is that she will not. She crawls back, every time, happy to be used, proud of how empty she can become for him, and that is what makes the whole thing stay in your head after you close the tab and pretend you are just going to check Twitter.

Death in this game feels almost like a dumb joke. One moment you’re gone, next moment some higher power tosses you back into the city like “here, go clean up horny ghosts now.” You’re not a hero, you’re more like a half-confused exorcist with a dirty mind, wandering around dirty streets and creepy apartments where every shadow might be a spirit or just a girl with tits that look like they’re breaking the fabric of her bra. It’s that kind of mix: cheap horror vibes, lots of soft colored lights, then suddenly there’s a MILF ghost asking if you’re here to banish her or “take responsibility” for waking her up. And honestly, you kinda want to do both. The whole thing plays out like an ecchi anime someone forgot to censor, with a bit of cheap cartoon style humor where even the scariest curses somehow end with you face-first in some big ass or with a hand up a shirt you probably shouldn’t be touching.

The story jumps around in a funny way. One moment you chase a curse to some old building, expecting some Ring-style crawly nightmare, and instead you bump into a tsundere waifu ghost that calls you an idiot for messing up the ritual while her gigantic boobs are literally clipping through her shirt. You talk, pick some choices, mess up a line, she gets pissed, and then somehow that leads to her pinning you against the wall and “absorbing your spiritual energy” with her mouth in a way that is absolutely not PG. There’s one scene in a tiny bathroom where the light flickers and the mirror starts bleeding, and out comes this shy specter girl with huge eyes and even huger tits, trembling like she’s actually scared of you, and when you purify her, the game flips it into this incredibly tender blowjob scene. It’s kind of sweet and fucked up at the same time. And then there’s a milf neighbor who’s not even dead, just “cursed,” walking around in a robe that never closes properly, and the game keeps giving you camera angles that stare right at her cleavage, like it’s reminding you every ten seconds that you’re not here for the plot.

What I liked is how it doesn’t pretend to be classy. Some scenes are just straight-up porn: you’re grinding this big-thighed ghost over a ritual circle while sigils glow under her ass, and she moans about how the curse is leaving her body while your dick is clearly the only exorcism tool being used. It’s stupid and hot. There’s one alley scene where a demon girl bends you over spiritually, and the choices you made before actually change her dialogue and how rough she goes, which caught me off guard because I thought it would be just click-next-to-cum. On the other hand, some “romantic” paths feel rushed like the dev got horny and stopped writing halfway, so you go from awkward small talk to full anal in maybe three lines of text, no buildup, just “okay, clothes off.” The text sometimes reads like it was written half on coffee, half on horny brain, with weird jokes that made me laugh just because they were so dumb, like a ghost calling your dick “holy staff.” And the game loves big tits so much it basically forgets asses exist, except for two or three scenes where the camera finally goes behind and you’re like: damn, where was this angle the whole time. Music is that chill loop you forget is there, which is good because you’ll be tabbing out to Telegram or watching something on YouTube between scenes, then suddenly there’s a haunted school stairwell and a busty spirit in a half-ripped uniform asking if you’re brave enough to “finish what she couldn’t in life,” and of course you pick the most degenerate option just to see how far it goes. It kind of feels like opening a cursed doujin and then realizing it reacts to the stupid choices you make, and by the time you’re balls-deep in another “purification ritual,” you’re not even thinking about ghosts anymore, just hoping the next girl moans louder and the dev remembers to add more positions this time.

Galactic Athletes feels like someone mashed together the Olympic Games, a horny soap opera, and that one locker room fantasy you never told your therapist about. You play as Finn, a new medic at Thebes Sporting Complex, and on paper his job is to keep all these huge, ripped, very not shy athletes healthy. In practice he spends a lot of time with a tablet in his hand, a hard-on in his pants, and a boss who basically tells him: “Guess who wins, guess who loses, or you’re screwed.” The twist is beautiful in a stupid way: every event ends with the winner fucking the guy who comes last. Gold medal equals top. Last place equals fresh, sweaty bottom. Sports science meets porn logic, and somehow it makes sense while you play.

The whole thing runs like a horny prediction game inside a visual novel. You move through event schedules, medical checkups, locker room talks, post-match “therapy” sessions. Before each event you look at the athletes, listen to their cocky bragging, check their conditions, and try to guess who’s going to take first and who’s going to eat the dust, and then eat something else later. There was this one javelin scene where I totally misread a shy, lanky guy, thought he would choke under pressure, marked him as last. Then he absolutely destroyed the field, turned around with this smug little smile, and later I had to watch him pin a muscle monster to the bench and grind him into it while Finn stands there trying to pretend he’s taking clinical notes. That moment hurt my ego more than it should, but I still rewatched it twice. For “research.” The sex scenes don’t feel like some random gallery you click through. They are chained directly to how you read those guys, how you interpret their bodies, their nerves, their stamina. If you fuck up your predictions, somebody else gets fucked, and not in the way you hoped, which is somehow worse than losing in a normal game. And yeah, it calls itself a league, but the whole setting feels closer to ancient Greek mythology fanfic where Zeus opened a gay gym and never invented clothes. I know Thebes is from Greek tragedies, but here it’s basically a giant sex clinic with running tracks.

What I enjoy most is how the game treats the athletes like horny gods and also idiots at the same time. They are tall, thick-chested, thighs like tree trunks, and there is zero shame about how much attention is on their cocks, their asses, the way sweat sticks to body hair. You get these surprisingly tender moments too, like one sprinter limping in after a bad run, Finn icing his leg, both of them talking about pressure and fear, and then five minutes later the same guy is buck naked, bent over a massage table, groaning while the new league champion pushes in slowly, and Finn is on the side trying to judge if this counts as “recovery protocol.” I wish the game actually punished wrong predictions harder sometimes, like really lock you into awkward pairings and force you to watch your least favorite guy get topped over and over, just to be cruel, but it kind of plays nice with you in a way that doesn’t match how brutal sports can be. Still, you get that nice balance where sometimes you are genuinely reading their psychology, like “he’s too confident, he will blow his load early,” and sometimes you just pick the one whose ass you want to see ruined. It pretends to be about strategy, then laughs and shows you two sweaty men going at it against the wall of the locker room while towels slowly slide off the hooks. It’s all gay, all the time, and proudly so, like old-school bara doujin met a modern queer sports anime and they got very drunk together. I opened it thinking “ok, just some porn with medals,” and somehow ended up caring who makes Champion’s league and who falls into Redemption league hell, which to be honest, is where all the best fucking happens anyway.