It’s weird how a game can make your stomach twist like that - like jealousy and curiosity are kissing behind your ribs. Mina’s messages feel too real, her little hearts and half-sincere emojis landing harder than they should. You’re not just reading text bubbles; you’re kinda reading your own reflection, that insecure part that wants to check her phone when she’s in the shower. It’s not even about trust. It’s about the thrill of maybe finding something you shouldn’t. The game knows that. It plays you more than you play it. I kept thinking I’d stay calm, but then some random producer sent her a photo at midnight, and I swear I felt my pulse in my teeth.

There’s this moment - she sends a selfie that’s almost innocent. Almost. You can tell she’s not alone, though the frame pretends she is. That’s when I realized the point isn’t to “win” her back. The point’s to feel that sting, to let it crawl under your skin until it burns. The choices don’t really matter, or maybe they do, but the game’s so good at pretending they don’t that you start second-guessing your own reactions. I hated that. And loved it. Like when you know you’re being teased but you lean into it anyway. The music’s soft, too clean for what’s happening on-screen - it’s like watching a slow breakup inside a perfume ad.

I wish Mina’s typing bubbles didn’t take so long to appear. That wait feels cruel. But maybe that’s the best part. You stare, waiting, wondering what she’s doing while you wait. Sometimes I thought I wanted more pictures, more explicit proof, but when the game actually gives you something close to that, it’s worse. You want to look away, but you don’t. That’s the whole trick - it makes you complicit. It’s not about sex, not really. It’s about wanting to control what you can’t. And maybe that’s the dirtiest thing of all.

Rilly looks like the kind of girl who would bully you on Discord, send you a cursed meme, then accidentally ruin your whole life with one drunk selfie. The game drops you right inside her mess: phones buzzing, group chats exploding, horny DMs stacking up while she’s trying to remember what the hell happened that night. You’re not some big hero, you’re basically a creep with a god view of her phone and her camera roll, watching her stumble through secrets and lies while everyone around her wants something from her body or her reputation. The fun part is how the game weaponizes humiliation. One minute she’s teasing some loser virgin in chat, calling him pathetic while dangling a blurred pic as “reward,” and the next moment you’re the one realizing everyone might have a copy of a photo she doesn’t even remember taking, and she’s the one on the leash. It’s hot in a kind of ugly way. Not elegant porn, just messy, spiteful, phone-screen sex drama.

What hooked me is how much of the action is in text and tiny choices instead of giant porn buttons. You’re reading chat logs, watching her type and delete messages, trying to decide if she flirts harder, plays the cruel goth queen, or just panics. I had this one scene where she’s on voice call, camera off, and the guy on the other side is begging to see her feet. She rolls her eyes, slams her legs on the table, snaps a lazy foot pic with chipped black nail polish, sends it, and the game instantly flips to his POV-style messages, full meltdown, thanking his “goddess” while she spams “lol” and calls him her little toy. The animation is AI CG, kind of uncanny but in a way that fits the vibe: her pink hair looks too perfect, her tongue out in stupid ahegao faces while her eyes still look tired and empty from the hangover. It’s not cinematic or clean, but that’s why it works. It feels like you’re scrolling through some cursed Twitter thread you shouldn’t see. And every time a new voyeur angle appears, like a hallway photo where she clearly didn’t hold the phone, you get this mix of “fuck, that’s hot” and “oh shit, someone is watching her all the time.”

The game pretends you’re here to help her “find the truth,” but honestly it keeps pushing you to be just as shitty as the people around her. You can choose to leak something in a chat to humiliate another girl, and the side effect is Rilly getting dragged harder in a group call later. There’s a sequence where she’s drunk, camera on, and some guy is talking softly, guiding her to strip piece by piece “for fun,” and the UI quietly shows more viewers joining without her noticing. Virgin guys get roasted, worshippers get stepped on, and Rilly shifts from bratty dom energy to shaking, embarrassed mess when someone plays a saved audio of her moaning back to her in a later call. The netorare angle creeps in too: you’re reading a log where some dude is bragging about fucking “the pink-haired slut from last night” while another guy who was obviously into her is in the same chat, spamming question marks and slowly realizing it’s her. She doesn’t even know they’re talking about her yet. I kinda hate the game for how dirty that felt. I also kinda went back to replay that route trying to unlock every variation of her reaction scene, because I’m a degenerate completionist and the gallery makes a little noise when you fill a new slot and my brain likes that. Anyway, if your thing is watching a girl get trapped in her own phone, worshipped and humiliated in the same breath, this one is stupidly effective at making you feel like the worst kind of voyeur, and somehow you keep clicking.

Matsuda looks like that guy you see on LinkedIn who has everything: sharp suit, neat hair, arrogant little smile that says “partner track”. In this game, you slide into his skin and realize pretty fast that all that polished surface hides a man who never actually lived. He sold his youth, his hobbies, his stupid crushes, all of it, just to grind cases and billable hours. Now he finally has the big salary, the fancy apartment, and this seriously gorgeous wife with curves that just make you stop and stare, and that’s exactly where everything starts to rot from the inside. You don’t play a hero here. You play a man who realizes he might be losing the only thing that actually matters, and he notices it when her skirt gets shorter, her lipstick gets darker, and her eyes don’t stay on him anymore.

The whole thing feels quiet at first, like a small crack. She leans over the table and that ass just fills your view, and you get this little text from her: “Going out with friends tonight.” You know that’s nothing, right? Just friends. But the game keeps pushing tiny moments on you. A lingering smell of cheap male cologne when she hugs you. Her phone lighting up, and she turns it face down too fast. She comes home late, hair messed, stockings a bit torn, complaining she’s “tired” and falls straight into bed without letting you touch those ridiculous tits that used to bounce for you on the couch. Audible’s open on your phone but you’re not listening; you’re just staring at her from the hallway wondering who’s making her moan now. You start noticing how the camera loves her body more than it loves yours. Her hips, the soft way her breasts spill out of a half-buttoned shirt, the tiny wet marks that sometimes show on her panties when she thinks you’re not looking. At one point there is this scene where she is standing at the balcony, texting, and the text choices you get are things like “Ask gently” or “Pretend you don’t care”, and whichever you pick, it still feels like your balls are slowly being crushed. Sex still happens, but it’s different. She rides you with her mind somewhere else, biting her lip like she’s replaying something someone else did to her. You can feel every second of that. The game is not shy at all with the physical stuff. You see the way her ass jiggles when another man grabs her, the way she opens her legs in a car seat that is clearly not yours, the detail when she’s finally getting pounded and you’re not even in the room. Sometimes you just sit there, clicking, watching her get her pussy stretched and soaked by someone who doesn’t even know her middle name, and the worst part is how the protagonist still calls her “my wife” like that means anything. The scenes hit harder because they don’t always scream about it; sometimes the most brutal moment is just her walking past you with that freshly fucked glow on her skin, smelling like sweat and sex that is not yours, and you know exactly what she’s been doing without one word being said. It’s mean. It’s hot. It’s miserable. It’s the kind of story that leaves you half hard, half sick, staring at your screen like, “Yeah, I would still forgive her.”

You wake up in this therapy center with your brain feeling like someone hit “delete” on half your save files, and the person in charge of fixing you is a woman who definitely should not be allowed to call what she does “therapy”. Miss Lust looks at your trauma like it’s a puzzle she’s horny to solve, and every “session” is basically her asking “what if we push you just a bit further?” then shoving you off the cliff instead. One moment she’s talking gently about memory blocks, the next she’s got you on your knees, collar around your neck, making you shuffle a deck of cards that decides if you’re going to get your ass stretched, your clothes taken away, or your dignity ripped apart in front of people who should not be watching but totally are. The whole card thing sounds simple until you realize it’s not about winning, it’s about how badly you’re willing to lose. You draw a card, suddenly you owe her worship, or your body gets put on display to some stranger behind a glass wall, or she turns your “normal” male protagonist into this confused pretty sissy who starts to like the high heels way too fast. And you tell yourself “this is fucked up, I’m being corrupted”, while at the same time moving the mouse to pick the filthier option because curiosity is a worse dom than Miss Lust.

The game loves to tease that maybe there is romance, maybe she actually cares, then five minutes later she’s auctioning you off for a “special session” with a futa client who treats your ass like it’s public property while Miss Lust just watches, taking notes like it’s a science project. There is this one scene where you stand naked in a corridor with nothing but a card in your hand, and the rule is that you can’t cover yourself at all while strangers pass by and comment, and one woman stops just to step on your cock with her heel, then smiles like she is tipping a waiter. Then later, Miss Lust offers you a “soft” option with cuddles and vaginal sex that almost feels tender, and the game has the nerve to make that feel more humiliating than the gangbang because suddenly you care what she thinks. There are branching paths that turn you into her obedient slave, her little toy prostituted to other patients, the secret lover she hides behind professional talk, or the broken thing that gets off on being called pathetic while licking her feet. The voyeur stuff gets wild too, like that card that forces you to watch another patient being transformed, stripped, and used by two women and one guy while you jerk under the table, trying not to get caught, and if you fail the check she drags you out by the hair and makes you finish in front of them. It is messy, horny, occasionally weirdly sweet, and then it slaps you with NTR flavor just when you start to feel safe. Honestly I wish there was one path where you just say “nope” and go to normal therapy, but also, I’d never click it.