Alright so this My Hero Academia parody thing caught me completely off guard. Like, I went in expecting some basic fanservice nonsense but ended up spending way too much time figuring out how to properly "counsel" Rumi Usagiyama without her kicking my virtual teeth in. The rabbit hero's got this whole tsundere energy mixed with straight-up predator vibes that honestly makes zero sense but somehow works? One minute she's calling you a weakling, next she's grinding against your lap during what's supposed to be a professional therapy session. The AI-generated artwork looks decent enough for what it is, though Midnight's proportions are absolutely ridiculous even by anime standards.

What really gets me is how the dialogue system actually matters here. You can't just mash through conversations hoping for the lewdest option - these heroines will shut you down hard if you come on too strong too fast. Mirko especially seems programmed to test whether you're actually paying attention to her personality quirks or just trying to speedrun to the sex scenes. When I finally unlocked her bedroom scene after like an hour of carefully balanced flirting and psychological manipulation, the payoff felt genuinely earned instead of just handed to me. Though honestly the handjob animations could use some work, they loop weird.

The sandbox structure lets you bounce between different heroines whenever you want, which is perfect for when Midnight starts getting too clingy or Rumi's attitude becomes insufferable. Each girl has her own therapy schedule and mood system that you gotta track, plus there's this weird minigame where you massage their stress points that's way more involved than it needs to be. Sometimes the translation feels a bit off too - like when Mirko says something that's probably meant to be seductive but comes out sounding like a grocery list. Still hit different though, not gonna lie.

You wake up beside her again, same as yesterday, same as the day before that - except she doesn’t remember your face. Not your name, not the way her legs wrapped around you last night, not the promises whispered against her ear. Every morning, she’s new. Blank. Soft. The game makes you feel like a bastard just for thinking about it, but then it tempts you harder - because who’s gonna stop you when she forgets every touch by sunrise? It’s dirty in that way that crawls under your skin and stays there, even when you pretend you’re just “testing different routes.” Sure. That’s what I told myself too.

Then her twin moves in, and things twist tighter. She looks at you with that same mouth, same body, but she remembers everything. There’s jealousy hiding under her polite smile. The kind that says she’s thought about you when she shouldn’t. Her hand brushes yours in the kitchen - accidentally, of course - and the screen flickers because the damn render bug still isn’t fixed. Doesn’t matter. You can almost feel her breath anyway. Later, when she knocks on your door at night, wearing nothing but guilt and a thin shirt, you’ll swear the devs coded temptation into the mouse cursor itself.

The corruption route hits hardest. Not because it’s the dirtiest (though, yeah, it is), but because it tricks you into believing you’re still the good guy. You watch her sister sneak into your bed, watch the girlfriend forget, watch yourself become someone you don’t recognize. There’s voyeurism baked right into the story structure - half the time you’re spying on your own conscience. The sex scenes aren’t shy: lips, fingers, wet sounds, the whole mess of it. Yet somehow it’s the morning after that feels filthiest, when she smiles at you like a stranger again. The game doesn’t punish you for cheating - it lets you drown in it. And maybe that’s worse.

Your grandparents vanish off the face of the earth, everyone acts like they’re dead, and the whole town just kind of… moves on. Years later you roll back in, phone in your pocket, brain full of horny thoughts you really shouldn’t have while asking people about missing old folks. It starts quiet. A simple mobile-style interface, tapping around like you’re just checking Instagram, but each location you poke has a little secret. A window left half open. A shower running too long. A MILF neighbor “too friendly” who somehow knows way more about your grandparents than she should, but instead you’re watching her bend over, thinking with your dick and not your head. Classic.

It tries to be a mystery first, and somehow still rubs your face in sex every few minutes. You follow clues like a point and click, only instead of boring keys and doors, you catch a girl masturbating with a toy on her couch because you checked the wrong camera at the right time. Or the right camera at the wrong time, depends how moral you are, I guess. There’s this voyeur vibe everywhere: security feeds in weird places, people who “didn’t know the camera is on,” and you, the good little detective, totally not replaying the clip three times before interrogating her about where she was the night your grandparents disappeared. The game teases you constantly. Women strip to distract you mid-dialogue, big tits pushed in your face while you’re trying to remember who lied about the last time they saw grandma. You tell yourself you’re focused on the case, but the next scene is you balls deep, creampie, and then going “oh shit, what was I doing again.”

What really messed with me is that there are superpower bits thrown into this small-town detective story like it’s normal. Suddenly you’re reading micro-expressions, nudging minds, or freezing time long enough to enjoy an “accidental” upskirt that lasts way too long to be accidental. It’s half sci-fi, half horny soap opera. The pacing is kinda weird sometimes, you’ll be in a really tender romance moment with a shy girl finally taking off her clothes slow, proper teasing, then the next tap dumps you in some sandbox area where a dominant older woman drags you around by the balls and talks like she owns the whole town. And you let her. Of course you let her. There’s one scene where a so-called respectable “auntie” type corners you during an “investigation,” pushes you into a chair, rides you until you’re shaking, then tells you important story info while you’re still buried inside her. That mix of information and sex is absolutely stupid and also exactly what my brain wanted. Animation helps a lot, nothing crazy, but enough bounce and wetness that when a big ass grinds on you, it actually feels like something. The game jokes about itself too, throwing in weird humor about old people, porn logic, and how no one ever calls the police, like it knows exactly what kind of trash it is. And yeah, sometimes the dialogue hits like a bad meme from 2014, yet I kept tapping, waiting for the next time a “serious interview” turned into you on your back, MILF on top, mystery temporarily forgotten under her.

You wake up wrong. That is the first thing that hit me. Not heroic, not cool cyberpunk badass, just this sick, half-loaded feeling like your soul got dragged through a glitchy Pornhub ad. You’re in your backup sleeve, lying in some cheap future med-bay, the kind that smells like burnt plastic and sex lube, and your own body doesn’t quite fit. Your fingers are a bit too long, your chest feels heavy in a way it shouldn’t, heart rate monitor chirping like a horny bird, and your vision keeps tearing like a bad stream on xVideos. Crew’s a mess, ship’s a mess, and your upload is corrupted enough that if you calm down, you die. Which is a fucked up way of saying: you literally need to be kept turned on just to keep your brain from shutting off.

The “keep his heart rate up” thing sounds like a cheesy porn excuse, and yeah, it is, but here it actually wraps around into the story surprisingly tight. You’re surrounded by these thick-thighed, short-haired, neon-dyed space girls that look like someone smashed together a strip club and a hacker bar, then sprinkled futa on top for good measure. They are not gentle nurses. You’re not in some healing crystal spa. You are meat they are determined to keep pumping, with hands that wander the second the monitor dips below a number they like. One moment the medic is calmly explaining your neural corruption, next moment her gloved hand slides under your hospital sheet and she squeezes like she’s testing a weapon part. The captain leans over you, short hair brushing your face, tits spilling out of a half-open suit, and she’s pissed you almost died but she’s also grinding on your thigh with this lazy, practiced dominance that says she has done this before with other poor fucks on other poor ships.

I liked how the game doesn’t even pretend to be subtle about the body stuff. Your sleeve is customizable, but not in that boring “pick eye color, done” way. It’s big asses that bounce when you get grabbed, heavy tits that strain cheap fabric, cocks and clits and both, because why not if you’re paying for a synthetic body anyway. Cyberpunk setting, sure, there are glowing cityscapes outside the porthole and some talk about data smuggling and black clinic surgeons, but honestly the real sci-fi here is “how far can we push this body before the heart flatlines.” There is this one scene that stuck with me: you’re strapped into this sloopy auto-doc chair, and a futa crew engineer, all colorful undercut and grease on her cheeks, is pretending to “check your reflexes” while she slowly strokes you with one hand and plays with the med panel with the other, watching the HR line spike when she squeezes your balls just a bit too hard. And the worst part? She keeps half-talking about thruster repairs, like she’s multitasking you like any other ship component.

Not everything lands. Some of the dialogue comes out a bit stiff in the wrong way, like someone tried to write badass one-liners while also jerking off and lost the balance. There is a moment where a character calls a neural buffer a “quantum RAM thingy” and I still don’t know if that’s on purpose or just lazy, but I kind of love it because it feels like late-night shitposting turned into a game script. The pacing jumps all over: one second you’re gasping, being ridden hard by a thick-hipped futanari officer who pins your wrists to keep your pulse up, the next second someone brings up fuel dates and cargo lists like we didn’t just watch you cum all over the med bed. Also, tiny complaint that bugged me way more than it should: the damn heart rate sound is slightly too high-pitched, like my Fitbit having an orgasm, and it made me reach for my phone twice, thinking I got a notification. Still, when the girls crowd around you, colored hair brushing your skin, their hands greedy, their voices low and bossy, using your overheating body as both patient and toy, that shrill little beep just disappears into the background like any other cheap future noise. Sex as life support. Literally. It’s messed up, and it works.