Tokyo Exorcism Diary

“Onii-chan, I’m heading out now.”

As evening descended, prompted by her manager’s call, Hoshino Rin changed into her outfit for the night and prepared to leave for a recording session.

Hearing her farewell, Hoshino Gen, still sitting behind the coffee table gripping his mouse in a relentless gaming battle, glanced up briefly. He gave her a slight nod before returning his gaze to the game screen on the television.

The apartment door closed with a soft click, leaving Hoshino Gen alone in the quiet living room.

The soothing melody of the game continued to play, resonating through the space. Staring at the charming and heartwarming visuals, Hoshino Gen’s expression remained unchanged, despite having spent the entire day trying to win over the in-game girl on the screen.

It wasn’t hard to understand his frustration. After all, the game had an infuriating mechanic where a single wrong answer to a seemingly random question could undo hours of progress.

In the game world, under a cerulean sky and blooming cherry trees, a girl with an angelic smile gazed out from the screen, as though breaking through the two-dimensional barrier to meet the eyes of her player.

 “Thank you, Y-san.”

Words that don’t make any sense again, Hoshino Gen sighed inwardly. Y was his in-game name, and “Y-san” was how Chi-chan, the virtual girl, addressed him. Typically, after these scripted lines, the game would present multiple-choice options for the player to select. Without a save-and-reload function, every choice was a one-time opportunity.

Which is why every choice is carefully thought out before Hoshino Gen presses the mouse.

But to his surprise, the screen didn’t show any options this time. Instead, a blank text box appeared, the blinking cursor indicating that the response would need to be typed freely.

What a cursed game…

Just as Hoshino Gen was about to grumble aloud, the apartment door beeped with the sound of fingerprint verification and swung open. Hoshino Rin, who had supposedly just left, poked her head back in. Seeing Hoshino Gen look her way, she gave an awkward, sheepish smile.

“Onii-chan, can you come ride the elevator with me?”

Hoshino Gen looked at the TV screen, where Chi-chan’s warm smile froze mid-frame, then at his sister’s hesitant expression by the door. Without hesitation, he set down the mouse and stood up. He’d rather waste time wandering outside than rack his brain trying to please a virtual girl.

The Hoshino siblings’ apartment was on the twelfth floor. Whether heading up or down, the elevator often stopped midway—sometimes to pick up other passengers, sometimes opening to an empty hallway. You never knew what to expect.

Hoshino Rin had never been particularly brave, but she wasn’t so timid that she’d need someone to ride the elevator with her. It was clear last night’s incident had left a deeper mark on her than she let on.

Wearing a mask and a baseball cap, Hoshino Rin adjusted her sunglasses—their tinted lenses helping to conceal her distinct heterochromatic eyes. As the elevator descended, she reached out with her slender fingers, pinching the edge of Gen’s sleeve. The slight feeling of weightlessness underfoot made her unconsciously inch closer to her brother, as though his presence alone could shield her from harm.

“Brother, do you think ghosts exist?” she whispered.

Hoshino Gen, busy texting the game seller if he had any guide, didn’t lift his head. “Don’t overthink it. If you’ve gone this long without encountering one, it means whether they exist or not doesn’t matter to your life.”

“But last night—”

“You had a nightmare,” Hoshino Gen interrupted.

Hoshino Rin puffed up her cheeks, glaring at him through her sunglasses. But no matter how intently she stared, he never turned to meet her gaze. Ultimately, she deflated with a small pout, mumbling under her breath, “Liar.”

By the time they reached the first floor, Hoshino Rin’s manager and assistant were already waiting in the lobby. Hoshino Gen didn’t even step out of the elevator, simply pressing the button to return to his apartment.

Back home, Hoshino Gen immediately noticed something off. The temperature in the living room felt colder, even though the golden hues of sunset spilled warmly through the panoramic windows, filling the space with light.

It clicked in an instant.

He walked to the TV, where the game screen had changed.

Before he left, the scene was a cheerful blue sky and fluffy clouds. Now, the world was bathed in twilight. Chi-chan, who had been smiling under the cherry blossoms, was now crouched by the roadside, crying.

The evening breeze lifted strands of her hair, and in the glow of the sunset, the tears on her face shimmered like crystals. To anyone with a soft spot for “loli” characters, this image might have been devastatingly heart-wrenching. But Hoshino Gen was unmoved.

The blinking cursor in the text box was still there, meaning the game hadn’t skipped the interaction despite his absence.

Hoshino Gen stared at the sobbing Chi-chan for a moment, then chuckled. There is definitely something fishy about this game.

He sat back down at the coffee table, placed his left hand on the wireless keyboard, and began typing quickly:  “Sorry, I had to step away for a bit. What’s wrong?”

After a day spent with Chi-chan, Hoshino Gen had started to notice something: the in-game character wasn’t much different from a real person. Her affection meter wasn’t just a cumulative number—it reflected her immediate feelings toward the player.

She’d get upset when the player chose the wrong words. She’d cry when ignored. She’d thank you, apologize, smile, and weep.

To raise her affection, you couldn’t treat her like a line of code. You had to see her as someone separated by just a pane of glass.

After all, ghosts were people once, too.

But even knowing that didn’t make it any easier. If Hoshino Gen struggled to raise affection with real people, how was he supposed to do it with Chi-chan?

He opened the stats panel and checked her affection level.

21 (Acquaintance)

It had been 23 before he left… What a cruel game.

Glancing at his phone, it was already 6:40 PM. Could he get her affection to 60 before sunrise? Probably not. He sighed and returned to his messages. The game seller still hadn’t replied.

With another long sigh, Whether it’s catching ghosts or playing games, there’s no shortcut to hard work.