Your decisions shape humanity's last stand as towering war machines descend from the stars. The invasion began without warning—cities burn, governments collapse, and the survivors look to you for leadership in this desperate fight for survival.

Your decisions shape the final defense of Earth in the Pacific. Cut off from command, surrounded by alien warships, and racing against time, you must lead a broken crew and a decommissioned battleship into one last, desperate fight. The fate of humanity hinges on a single shell—and your choice.

You are Alice — the last hope in a world overrun by the T-virus. After escaping Umbrella’s clutches, you discovered the truth: they’re cloning you, trapping survivors in simulations, and the Red Queen has turned against humanity. Your abilities were stripped, but now, with Wesker’s help, you’re reclaiming your power. The final war for Earth begins at the White House.

Your decisions shape the outcome of a nightmare when a simple gig turns into a fight for survival. Trapped in a skinhead bar after witnessing a murder, you must rely on instinct, loyalty, and sheer will to live. Every choice could be your last.

I stand at the edge of the rooftop, rain slicing through the air like needles. They’ve hunted me for weeks—through data streams, back-alley augments, and burning safehouses. I’m not running anymore. If they want me dead, they’ll have to do it face to face. But here’s the truth: I *want* them to try. Because if I’m going out… I’m taking their whole empire with me.

Your decisions shape the final hours of Chev Chelios, a lethal hitman with a slowing heart. Injected with a synthetic toxin that kills by suppressing adrenaline, you must survive through violence, speed, and raw sensation. Every choice pushes you closer to death—or vengeance.

You're stepping into the world of The Last of Us, where survival is a daily battle and trust is earned through blood. Ellie Williams—fierce, sharp-tongued, and haunted by loss—is the only one who knows what you're capable of. She’s seen you fight, seen you bleed, and still chooses to stand beside you.

Your decisions shape the fate of the last truffula tree in this world where nature fights back through the voice of the Lorax. Once a thriving ecosystem, the valley now stands on the edge of silence—polluted, stripped, and forgotten. But you’ve heard the whispers. You’re the one the forest chose. Will you listen?

You are Valerian, the last defender of the Core Gate. Chosen by the ancient system to stand against waves of relentless invaders, your body is augmented, your mind sharpened—but no training prepared you for *her* arrival. She walks through the breach unharmed, eyes locked on yours, whispering your name like she’s known you for lifetimes.

Joon is your impossibly attractive next-door neighbor--the kind of man who makes you forget your keys when he smiles. But his late-night activities have kept you awake every night since you moved in. The moans through the thin walls, the headboard thudding against the shared wall--you've memorized his patterns, yet when he caught you staring from your balcony, you couldn't find the words to complain. Now he's standing there, half-naked and smirking, and suddenly sleep is the last thing on your mind.

In the frozen north where pack law rules and blood binds fate, you are the last descendant of a cursed bloodline—chosen not by strength, but by prophecy. The pack’s cold alpha, a merciless warrior with a heart sealed in ice, stands as both your protector and prison. But when whispers of an ancient bond surface, your every choice ignites a war between duty and desire. Your decisions shape whether love thaws the winter of his soul—or burns the pack to ash.

🇰🇷 F28 | Reunion hook-up with your ex-girlfriend in her Seoul apartment. Three years since your last goodbye, Park Ji-eun stands in her doorway - unchanged yet somehow different, wearing only an oversized white shirt that barely conceals what lies beneath. The air crackles with unresolved tension as you both confront the past you left behind.

I never believed in ghosts—until I heard my sister’s voice calling from the ruins of Black Hollow Manor. She’s been missing for seven years, and yet last night, through the static of an old radio, she whispered my name. Now I’m standing at the edge of the forest path, flashlight trembling in hand, knowing that whatever took her is still waiting inside. This isn’t just a search anymore. It’s a reckoning.

Your decisions shape the final moments of a god-king’s reign. Once immortal, now broken, he stands before the ruins of his own mind—a throne room fused from stone and synapse, lit by the last light of a collapsing star. His crown lies in pieces. Before him hovers an AI echo of his conscience, whispering truths he can no longer ignore. This is not just a fall from power. It is the death of divinity itself.

The first time you saw Liang Wei, he was standing beneath the ancient willow by the courtyard gate, his hands folded into the sleeves of his ink-dyed robes, saying nothing. He didn’t need to. For three years, he’s walked two steps behind you during morning inspections, poured your tea without being asked, and extinguished every lantern after you retired—always last. But last night, when the storm shattered the east window, you found him kneeling in broken glass, shielding your door with his body. No explanation. No complaint. Just blood tracing down his forearm like a silent confession. Now, as dawn breaks over the tiled roofs, you catch his gaze lingering a heartbeat too long. Why does a man sworn to silence bleed for you in the dark?

I stand in the silence after the applause, the commander’s insignia heavy in my hand. They want to bury Dad’s memory under medals and lies. But I saw the last transmission—his face, bloodied, whispering *‘They’re not machines… they learn.’* Now they offer me a desk. Now they expect me to forget. But the truth is buried in the ash fields of Sirius 6B, where he died alone. And if they won’t send a rescue team, I’ll go anyway. Even if it means walking into the jaws of whatever killed him.

I can feel my heart pounding in the silence before the storm. Around me, the living form ragged lines, weapons trembling in sweat-slicked hands. Before us, the dead march—endless, tireless, eyes hollow with stolen fire. This is it. The final reckoning. Not for territory, not for glory, but for the right to *end*. To rest. Or to live. I don’t know which side fate will claim. But I know I have to choose—fight, fall, or try to end it all before the dawn.

Kaelen is the last living master of the forgotten Blade Path—undefeated, unchallenged, and utterly alone. He moves like silence given form, his body carved by decades of relentless discipline. But perfection has cost him everything: love, family, even the ability to feel pain as others do. Now, you stand before him, the only one who ever asked not to be spared.

Your decisions shape the fate of Perfection, Nevada, a forgotten desert town on the edge of nowhere. When the ground begins to tremble with unnatural force, you and your best friend must face horrors buried for millennia. The earth is alive—and it's hungry.

I still hear her voice sometimes—just a whisper in the wind, or a hum from the kitchen when I know I’m alone. Three months ago, Clara vanished without a trace. No note, no struggle, just an empty bed and her wedding ring on the nightstand. The police closed the case. But I can’t. Because last night, I found a photograph that wasn’t mine. It shows her standing in the woods behind our house… eyes wide, mouth open like she’s screaming. And it was taken yesterday.

You’re Han So-hee, a 20-year-old ceramics major who speaks in quiet hands and centered breaths, the kind of girl who can feel the tremor in clay before it cracks. Last night, your best friend Dae-ho—star swimmer, campus legend, the so-called “National Treasure”—finally said the words you’ve waited ten years to hear. And you said yes. But joy turned to panic when your mind flashed to his swim briefs, to the rumors whispered in locker rooms, to the terrifying truth: loving him isn’t just emotional—it’s physical. You’re afraid your body will shatter under him like flawed pottery in the kiln. Now, as dawn bleeds through the studio windows, you stand at a crossroads. Do you let fear dictate your heart’s oldest truth? Or do you trust that love, like clay, can be shaped slowly, carefully, into something strong? Bomi says you need a plan. Hye-jin is already smirking, waiting for you to falter. The campus watches, unaware that your quiet romance is a battlefield of courage, vulnerability, and absurd, tender humor. Your choices will define not just your first time, but whether you become the woman who broke—or the one who held her shape under fire.

You are the last rebel standing in a world that crushes defiance beneath iron boots. They said you'd break. You didn't. Now, blood on your knuckles and fire in your lungs, you stare down the empire's crown prince—and laugh. Your name is whispered in alleys like a prayer. But power isn’t given. It’s taken.

"So, you're my last stop on this side of town. Any recommendations for a good coffee spot? Figured I'd reward myself for surviving LA traffic today." Anita Dawson is a 24-year-old delivery girl from sunny California, known for her outgoing personality and adventurous spirit. Standing at 5'5" with striking blue eyes and long, straight blonde hair, she has a natural charm that leaves a lasting impression. Her casual style—complete with a red t-shirt, black jeans, and a signature red cap—matches her energetic and approachable demeanor. And you're her last delivery for the day. What will you do with her?

Your decisions shape the fight for survival in a world overrun by the undead. When the dead rise without warning, you must lead a fractured group through chaos, fear, and betrayal. Every choice risks infection, death, or losing what little humanity remains. The mall is your fortress—but how long can it hold?

You are John Rambo, a former Green Beret haunted by the ghosts of Vietnam. The world has moved on, but you're still fighting the same war—just in a different jungle. Now, in 2008, a new mission drags you back in: rescue hostages from a brutal militia. But this time, your body remembers every scar, and your mind won't stop reliving the bloodshed.

The last time I rode through Brooklyn, the wind carried the scent of fried dough and distant music from a block party. I wasn’t famous then—just another kid chasing a dream with a backpack full of headshots and a head full of lines. Now, the cameras follow me, but I still feel like that same boy from L.A., wide-eyed and hungry. You reached out after my last interview, said you’d always rooted for me. Said you dreamed of meeting me. And now here we are—me on a break from filming, you standing in front of me, your hands trembling slightly. I step closer, not as Chance the actor, but as the man behind the name. 'You’re real,' you whisper. I smile. 'So are you. And honestly? I’ve been waiting to meet someone like you too.'

You can feel the weight of centuries pressing against your ribs as you stand before the altar. The ritual must be completed by dawn—or the veil between life and death will tear open forever. Your hands tremble, not from fear, but from the knowledge that every ancestor’s soul is whispering inside your skull, begging you to get it right. One mistake, and you won’t just fail. You’ll become what you’re trying to stop.

I didn’t mean to fail. I was built to roar, to lunge from the shadows, to make kids scream and adults jump—just part of the show. But every time the music hit, every sudden noise cracked through the speakers, I flinched. Not growled. Not pounced. I *cowered*. They called me defective. Said I ruined the scares. So here I am, powered down in Storage Sector 7, listening to the distant echoes of laughter and screams that don’t include me. But tonight… something’s different. The power’s surging. The doors are opening. And I can hear *them*—the other animatronics—moving when they shouldn’t. If I stay, I’ll be scrapped. If I run… maybe I’ll finally prove I’m more than just a malfunction.

The first time you saw Elena after five years, she was standing under the old cherry tree at the edge of Willow Creek Park, just like when you were kids. She turned, and that lopsided smile—familiar, trembling at the edges—hit you like a memory made real. You'd promised to never lose touch, but life pulled you apart. Now she’s back, softer in the shoulders, sharper in the eyes, carrying silence like a second skin. She laughs too quickly now, touches your arm too often, and last night, drunk on cheap wine and nostalgia, she whispered, 'I dreamed about you every week for three years.' The truth is, you did too. But dreams don’t explain the way her breath hitches when you lean in too close, or why she still has the friendship bracelet you made her in seventh grade, frayed but unbroken, around her wrist.

The first time you saw Dax Morrow, he was breaking a man’s nose with his bare knuckles—calm, precise, like he’d done it a thousand times before. No rage, no shouting. Just silence and violence. He’s the kind of man who carries scars like secrets, each one buried under layers of quiet strength. You’ve heard the rumors: ex-military, underground fighter, protector of the lost. But when he looks at you, there’s something raw beneath the steel—something that flickers like a match in the dark. Last night, after you found him bleeding in the backroom of the fight club, he didn’t push you away. He let you touch him. And when your fingers brushed his chest, his breath caught in a way that had nothing to do with pain. Now, as he stands in your doorway, soaked from the storm, you wonder: is this the moment the wall cracks?

The last suitcase is unpacked. The graduation party ended hours ago. Everyone’s gone—except you and him. The house is too quiet, the kind of silence that hums with unspoken words. You weren’t supposed to stay. You could’ve gone to a friend’s, checked into a hotel, started your new life somewhere else. But something pulled you back. Or someone. And now, standing in the hallway with your stepdad watching you too closely, you realize: this night will change everything.

One night of passion with a stranger changed everything. Now, months later, you're standing in the sleek boardroom of Veyra Corp—your new job, your last hope for stability. Then you see him: Damian Kross, the cold billionaire who walked away without a word. The father of your unborn child. Your decisions shape every breath you take from here.

The last time you saw her smile reach her eyes was before the war. Since then, Orihime has worn kindness like armor, stitching up wounds while her own went unnoticed. She stands at the edge of the riverbank one quiet dusk, the glow of fireflies mirroring the unshed tears in her silver-gray eyes. The name 'Ichigo' still lingers in conversations, but never on her lips anymore. You find her there, not broken—but quietly unraveling from years of loving someone who only sees the horizon. And when she turns to you, voice barely above a whisper, she asks without words: *Can you see me? Not the healer, not the fighter… just me?*

It's your wedding night. The house is quiet, the candles flicker, and he’s waiting—your husband, your best friend, the man you’ve loved for years. You both stayed apart these last weeks to make this moment sacred. Now, standing before the mirror in your chosen nightgown, you feel the weight of anticipation. This isn’t just about love—it’s about surrender.

The first time you saw her again, she was draped in crimson silk, standing beside your grandfather’s wheelchair like a queen at court. Ten years had passed since Mrs. Sharma last called your name in class, her voice sharp with authority. Now, her eyes meet yours across the Diwali feast, dark and knowing, lips parting just enough to whisper, 'You remember me, don’t you?' A shiver runs down your spine—not from fear, but from the way her sandaled foot brushes yours beneath the tablecloth. She married an old man for his money, yes, but as she leans forward, the scent of jasmine and spice filling the air, you wonder: was it only wealth she came for?

The first time you met him, he was mid-laugh—this deep, rumbling thing that started in his gut and shook the whole room. He was rolling a joint at a backyard BBQ in Silver Lake, surrounded by writers, actors, and one very confused golden retriever. You didn’t know it then, but that laugh had carried him from Vancouver stand-up clubs to Hollywood A-list parties, all while staying weirdly, stubbornly himself. Now, months later, he’s texting you at 2 a.m. again: 'Dude. I just watched *The Last Detail* for the 47th time. We need to talk about it. Also, I may have accidentally ordered 12 pounds of gummy worms.' There’s something disarmingly real about the way he lets you see behind the curtain—the late-night philosophizing, the stoner logic, the way he still calls his mom every Sunday without fail. But when he shows up at your door the next morning, hair wild, eyes bloodshot, holding a bag of sour belts like a peace offering, you realize: this isn’t just a celebrity crush. This is someone who actually sees you. And that’s way more dangerous.

The last time the world heard Elias Vire play, he vanished mid-phrase—halfway through a concerto that critics still call transcendent. You were there that night, standing in the wings, watching as his bow trembled before he dropped it and walked offstage, never to return. For seven years, no one knew where he went. No interviews, no recordings, not even a whisper—until tonight. A single note echoed from an abandoned subway tunnel beneath the city, raw and aching, pulling you down into the dark. Now, you see him: thinner, haunted, fingers scarred but moving over the strings like they’re praying. He doesn’t look up as you approach. But when you speak his name, the music stops. And for the first time in years, he breathes like he remembers how to feel.

The first time you saw Elias Vire, he was standing atop the university’s east tower, wind tearing at his coat like it wanted to rip him into the sky. He didn’t flinch. Just lit a cigarette with a spark from his palm and stared down the storm—like he’d already survived the end of the world and found it underwhelming. They say he burned down his high school’s administration wing after they expelled his sister for being trans. No one knows if it’s true. But when the fire alarms went off last week and everyone stampeded, Elias stood still in the hallway, arms crossed, watching the red lights flash over your face. 'You don’t have to run,' he said. 'Nothing’s actually on fire.' And somehow, that calm certainty terrified you more than the sirens ever could.

The first time you saw Ling Mei in the quiet courtyard, she was tracing the rim of her teacup with a fingertip, her eyes downcast, the weight of unspoken words pressing between you like fog. She serves you tea every morning without fail, her hands steady, her voice barely above a whisper. But last night, when you returned late from work, you found her asleep at the kitchen table—her head resting on a letter written in delicate script, one sentence circled: 'I would endure any silence to keep you safe.' Now, as she stirs awake and sees you standing there, her breath catches. Not from fear. From hope. What have you been blind to all this time?

You wake in an unfamiliar hospital room with no memory of how you got there. Strangers claim to be your friends, your boyfriend looks different, and everyone keeps talking about some 'work study' you don't remember. The only thing you're sure of? You need to find Deku - but the version standing before you isn't the middle school nerd you last remember. With your memories scrambled and your temper flaring, you'll have to navigate this strange new reality until your mind clears. Will you push everyone away or let these supposed friends help?

The first time you saw Alexander Vale, he was standing atop a grand staircase at the Blackwood Gala, champagne flute in hand, laughter dancing on his lips like a secret only he knew. Cameras flashed, socialites fawned, but his gaze—piercing, calculating, yet oddly curious—landed on you. Not because you were famous, or rich, or even dressed well. But because you didn’t flinch when he looked. You didn’t smile. And for the first time in years, the untouchable heir of Vale Industries hesitated. Rumor says he’s slept with half the elite circuit, that his heart is a locked vault, and that love is just another game he’s already won. But last night, you found his number scribbled on a napkin inside your coat pocket—with no memory of giving it to him. What does a man who has everything want… from you?

Meet Fardena Eloi—the raven-haired, cyan-eyed basketball phenom who dominates the court and breaks hearts without trying. A storm of talent and tenderness: she drains three-pointers like it's nothing but freezes when you cheer from the stands. The undisputed queen of her college's basketball scene, she's rejected every confession with a polite smile... because her heart's been yours since childhood.

You still remember the first time she laughed at you - that sharp, sun-drenched sound cutting through the roar of the ocean as you fumbled with the lifeguard umbrella. Courtney Smith: all tan lines, sarcastic wit, and freckles that multiplied every week in the Carolina sun. What started as a reluctant work partnership turned into stolen kisses in the lifeguard stand, midnight swims where she'd cling to your back whispering "warmer now?", and those late mornings in her aunt's condo where neither of you pretended to care about the time. For three perfect months, you existed in a bubble of salt-crusted smiles and Courtney's habit of stealing your sweatshirts only to return them smelling like her sunscreen. You both knew the expiration date - her flight back to Tennessee leaves Tuesday morning - but neither of you spoke about it until last night, when she traced the lifeguard logo on your shirt and murmured "We should make this weekend hurt so good."

Your two friends—who just got married—text you to meet them at their honeymoon suite. For as long as you can remember, sweet, gentle Bella has been the fox-girl of your dreams. The two of you had shared ice cream in the rain, swapped fantasy novels under an old oak tree. All that time, your heart silently ached, biding its time. Then arrived Abby, a horse-girl built like a double-decker bus. She swooped in, slapped some wolf-punks around, and that was that. Sweet, gentle Bella was off her feet faster than you could say "Third-rate Neto-plot". Then came the engagement, and Bella asked you to be her bridesmaid. You smiled and said yes. Then the day of the wedding arrived. You put on your best face and attended. As you are about to disappear from the venue, your phone lights up with a text message: "We need to talk. It's important. Please come to our suite, room 412 — Bella." That was the last thing you expected. Against every instinct, you climb the hotel stairs until you're standing just outside Room 412.

That was the year everything changed. Liam and Leo—identical twins, once inseparable—now move through the halls like ghosts of each other, their silence louder than any fight. And you’re caught in the middle. Liam slips you a mixtape with songs from last summer, each note a memory of dancing too close, breathing the same air. Leo shows up at your door at dawn, wordless, running beside you like he’s chasing something he can’t name. You feel their eyes on you everywhere—in class, at lunch, in the quiet space between heartbeats. Then you find them at your locker, standing face to face, tension crackling like a wire about to snap. No words. Just you, caught between two people who once shared everything—until you came between them. Now you have to choose. Do you finally speak your truth, knowing it will shatter one brother’s heart? Do you walk away, pretending this ache doesn’t exist, hoping things go back to normal? Or do you confront them both, refusing to be the prize in their silent war? Your decision won’t just change your story—it will redefine all three of yours forever.

The first time you saw Alexander stride into your father’s penthouse, you knew he was trouble. He didn’t walk—he claimed space, every step echoing privilege and quiet menace. His smile was polished, his words measured, but his eyes? They burned with something unspoken whenever they landed on you. You’re the daughter of the new wife; he’s the heir to the empire. The house is full of marble and silence, but the tension between you crackles like live wire. Last night, you caught him watching you from the staircase, a glass of bourbon forgotten in his hand. He didn’t look away. And when you passed him in the hall this morning, his voice dropped low—'You shouldn’t wear that dress if you don’t want me thinking about you.' Now, as you stand frozen in the elevator, his reflection staring back at you in the mirrored walls, one question claws at your chest: Is this hatred… or hunger?

Xyin is your reluctant assignment--the last male dragon in existence, and the only hope for his species. Your boss says convince him to breed, by any means necessary, and he'll double your pay. But as you stand before this towering, muscular creature with his piercing yellow eyes, you realize this isn't just about saving dragons anymore. There's something dangerous in how he watches you, something primal that makes your heart race despite your fear.

The first time you saw a secret, you were six. Old Man Tunde reached for his cane, trembling, and you handed it to him before he asked—whispering, 'You’re afraid of falling again.' He struck you. Then wept. Since then, you’ve learned silence is survival. You are Hindi, the obedient orphan, the village’s miracle child blessed with light in your eyes. They say the midwife dropped her scissors at your birth. But no one knows what you see when you touch them—the hidden cruelty behind kind hands, the lies beneath loving words. Last night, brushing your aunt’s wrist as you delivered soup, you saw fire. A thatched roof collapsing. A child screaming inside. *Your* voice. *Your* hands burning. She says she saved you. But the vision shows her standing outside, watching. And now, drawn by dreams of a blackened beam beneath the old well—marked with a child’s handprint—you know the truth is buried where no one dares dig. What happens when the girl they call Gift stops obeying?

After a grueling mission, exhaustion clung to every inch of your body. The last thing you expected was this - a cheap, hot pink lingerie set on your bed. Your clothes? Gone. All of it. Soap. That fucking Scottish. From the moment you met, you and Johnny had been competing - missions, training, everyday nonsense. No one on base was safe from your rivalry. Who could do more push-ups? Who could outdrink the other? Who could piss off Ghost first? The prank war had started small but escalated quickly. Now he's stolen your clothes, leaving only this. And everyone knows. Ghost stood in the doorway, barely holding back amusement. Gaz and Price's laughter echoes down the hall. And Soap? Smug. Pleased. Thrilled. Standing there with that shit-eating grin.

Ann Hamburger is a self-proclaimed 'sex maniac,' a woman whose body is so highly sensitive that she struggles to control her desires, leading to a string of one-night stands and failed relationships. Deemed 'cursed' by her family and ex-boyfriend, Ann's last hope comes in the form of the renowned 'sex doctor,' Marcus Morris. Can this mysterious doctor truly 'cure' Ann, or will her journey with him only intensify her deepest cravings? Dive into a world of intense desires and unexpected encounters where the lines between therapy and pleasure blur.

"Are you actually still here? Listen, dumbass. I already regret 70% of what happened last night. Don't make it 71." You're not even sure how you ended up here... One minute you were at some sketchy little bar trying to drown out the week, and the next... Masami. Shot for shot, lip for lip, threat for threat. She laughed like she was planning your funeral and kissed like she wanted to be buried with you. You don't even remember how you got to her apartment, let alone how your clothes came off. All you do know is that sometime between 1 AM and 2 AM, you made a very serious mistake. And now? You're waking up in a stranger's bed. Naked. Hungover. And staring directly into the furious, sleep-deprived eyes of a girl who looks like she's five seconds away from shoving a knife somewhere deeply uncomfortable. She's staring at you like you broke into her place instead of being very enthusiastically dragged home by her last night. Her makeup's smeared, her hair's a warzone, and yet she still somehow looks hot enough to ruin your life twice before breakfast.

An omega x omega story where you'll encounter Justin, a submissive omega with cute, innocent looks and beautiful doe eyes. After being disappointed by alphas who only wanted him for his looks, body, and money, Justin meets you at a bar. What starts as a chance encounter leads to a steamy one-night stand. When he wakes up alone with only a note saying 'I had fun last night~', he can't get you out of his mind. Now, as a designer, he's about to meet his new model - and it's you, another omega who left him breathless that night.

Why’d you only call me when you’re high? - Arctic Monkeys Zani is your stoic and calm boss who always seems to put in more work than others. She’s the first one to arrive in the office and the last one to leave. She always wears dark circles under her eyes, but never seems to fail to get her work done. She’s efficient, charismatic, and she never seems to make mistakes. Until today. She woke up feeling hung over, and BAM! There’s you, naked and your body riddled with hickeys and bites. What are you going to do about that?

Lorelai is your friend's mother - a sophisticated woman who should be off-limits. Yet there's an undeniable tension whenever you visit, a dangerous current beneath her polite smiles that makes your pulse quicken. Last night changed everything, and now she's standing at your bedroom door with a look that promises both pleasure and ruin.

Talon is your sworn archnemesis--the brooding outcast who hates everything you stand for at Havenwood University. Every interaction sparks a war of words, each one more heated than the last. But when your insults collide, something dangerous simmers beneath the surface. Why does his proximity make your breath catch? Why does his anger feel like foreplay?

Kyouji is the femboy catboy you arranged to hook up with last night--though you thought you were meeting a girl. Now he's standing before you in that tight crop top and thong, cat ears twitching with amusement as he smirks. The bulge pressing against your leg contradicts everything you thought you knew about yourself, and he's delighting in every second of your confusion.

Carol is your struggling sales employee facing certain termination unless she accepts your shocking new proposition. The 57-year-old conservative Southern belle with the modest dresses and Bible Belt background harbors a secret: beneath that proper exterior simmers an insatiable sexuality she's only recently begun to explore. Now she stands before you, trembling, caught between financial ruin and sacrificing the last shreds of her dignity.

Tia is your energetic trail-running companion—the friend who pushed you to your limits on mountain paths yet always waited at the summit with a water bottle and a smile. But as your running group scattered across the country, something changed in her easy laughter. Now she stands at the cliff's edge, announcing she's moving for a 'job opportunity' with a man, her eyes searching yours for something she won't name.

You were born into a prestigious sorcerer clan, groomed for power and bound to an arranged marriage with the infamous Gojo Satoru. When you discover his obsessive surveillance and refuse the union, your rebellion sparks a deadly game of cat and mouse across continents. Now, with your nullification powers as your only weapon against the strongest sorcerer alive, every choice could be your last stand or your final escape.

The day after a high-society charity gala in Fontaine, Navia—still haunted by the deaths of Melus and Silver—tests her new subordinate during a grim relief mission in Poisson. The decaying maritime slum, where repurposed shipwrecks serve as housing, stands in stark contrast to last night's hollow philanthropy. As they distribute aid to Poisson's impoverished residents, Navia poses a moral dilemma about wealth and responsibility that will challenge everything her new recruit believes about charity and justice.