Tokyo Exorcism Diary

11:08 PM

Chi-chan’s affection level for Y-san: 29 (Acquaintance).

Hoshino Gen yawned lazily, his gaze flitting over the chaos strewn across the coffee table: empty snack bags, a near-empty instant noodle cup, half a can of Red Bull, and an unopened can of concentrated coffee.

Among the clutter sat a sleek, black-bladed sword, placed casually enough to be within arm’s reach. A single grip on its hilt and a slight pull would release it from its sheath.

Right now, Hoshino Gen had half a mind to draw the blade and smash the TV. Since the input window appeared earlier that evening, it had remained on the screen without disappearing. Gone were the multiple-choice prompts; every conversation with Chi-chan now required him to type out responses manually!

Sure, it made sense to talk nonsense when dealing with ghosts, but after hours of spinning his most creative lines, Hoshino Gen felt his emotional intelligence might be increasing—or that he himself was about to turn into a ghost.

Yawning again, this time from sheer boredom, Hoshino Gen briefly toyed with the idea of giving up on this ghost altogether. However, the buzz of his phone interrupted his thoughts. He glanced at the screen: “World’s Cutest Little Sister~ (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)”.

“…,” Hoshino Gen remained silent momentarily before picking up the call.

“Onii-chan, can you come downstairs and pick me up?” The voice on the other end was soft, clearly trying to sound sweet, but anyone paying close attention could detect a faint quiver—a barely concealed hint of fear.

It seemed his sister had fully transformed into a scaredy-cat.

“Got it,” Hoshino Gen replied, his tone resigned. He might’ve considered ignoring her if this wasn’t technically his fault. After all, the blade was something he brought home, and this apartment was as much hers as it was his.

At this late hour, the building’s elevator usage was low. In less than three minutes, Hoshino Gen had escorted his little sister, Hoshino Rin, back to the apartment.

Under the warm glow of the living room lights, Hoshino Rin visibly relaxed. She switched out her shoes at the entryway, removed her mask and cap, and stretched with a yawn before trailing Hoshino Gen into the living room.

Her gaze fell on the coffee table’s mess, and her eyes widened. “Brother, don’t tell me that was your dinner?”

Hoshino Gen ignored her, fighting off another yawn as he plopped back down in front of the coffee table. This cursed game decreases affection points whenever he steps away, and the longer the absence, the more severe the penalty. Luckily, this game wasn’t normal—it would’ve bombed if its developers sold via standard channels!

By now, Hoshino Rin had adjusted to her brother’s true personality post-reveal. His cold indifference was met with only mild exasperation. As a self-proclaimed “Otaku,” Hoshino Rin knew well the thrill of possessing an elusive “SSR”—the rarer the prize, the greater its value.

She stepped forward to tidy the table. But as she approached, something caught her eye.

Amid the snack wrappers and cups, the sleek, black-bladed sword stood out. Even half-buried, its presence was undeniable.

Hoshino Rin’s face turned pale. She recognized it instantly. It was the same blade she accidentally touched last night, before plunging into a nightmare cycle that felt like endless death.

Sensing her discomfort, Hoshino Gen nonchalantly grabbed the sword and shoved it under the carpet. It wasn’t like him to forget to stow it away before heading downstairs—blame the game for frying his brain.

Hoshino Rin visibly relaxed once the blade was out of sight. She swallowed nervously and hesitated before speaking, “O-Onii-chan, what is that?”

“A decorative piece I found on the street.”

“You’re lying!” Hoshino Rin retorted without hesitation, her skepticism plain.

“Believe what you want,” Hoshino Gen replied, his tone indifferent. His attention drifted back to the TV screen, where he noticed something surprising—the input box was gone, and dialogue options had reappeared.

After a moment of thought, Hoshino Gen connected the dots. He glanced at his sister, who was puffing her cheeks in mock anger. Earlier in the evening, the input prompts had disappeared right after Rin left.

Could it be? The ghost gets shy when there are other people around?

Hoshino Gen raised an eyebrow. Good news. Multiple-choice is way easier than typing!

Hoshino Rin, seeing her brother absorbed once more in his game and no longer acknowledging her presence, gave up with a pout. She stuck out her tongue at him in defiance before wandering off.

Later that night, Hoshino Rin, freshly showered and dressed in her nightgown, curled up on the sofa behind him. Meanwhile, Hoshino Gen remained seated at the coffee table, grinding away at the game.

His original plan was to pull an all-nighter and hit the 60-point affection threshold before school. But as someone who neither enjoyed romance simulators nor indulged in loli tropes, he found the game nearly as torturous as sitting through a math lecture.

By 4 a.m., lulled by the soothing game music, Hoshino Gen succumbed to exhaustion. He slumped forward onto the carpet and drifted off into a deep sleep.

Buzz, buzz…

A faint buzzing sound broke the silence as the TV screen flickered. For a moment, the game alternated between static and the usual visuals. At the same time, the sword beneath the carpet trembled slightly. The screen instantly stabilized, the game auto-closed, and the apartment fell into complete silent.

Hoshino Gen stirred to the sound of Rin’s voice. Groggily opening his eyes, he saw the world outside the floor-to-ceiling windows bathed in bright daylight.

Hoshino Rin, still in her nightgown with her hair tousled, sat on the carpet beside him. She yawned, one hand covering her mouth, and held out her phone to him with the other.

Her voice was soft and drowsy, “Onii-chan, I think you’re late for school.”

It might be that she was a bit groggy and her sense of spatial awareness wasn’t great—her brand-new iPhone almost ended up having a close encounter with  Hoshino Gen’s face.

 Hoshino Gen doesn’t have nearsightedness; in fact, his eyesight is surprisingly good. So, he had to lean back slightly to clearly see the time displayed on the phone—9:35 a.m.

He wasn’t just running late for his 8:40 a.m. class at Segawa Academy; he had completely missed it.

“Mm,” Hoshino Genacknowledged with a grunt. Though tempted to fall back asleep, his drowsiness vanished when he remembered something important. He quickly turned to the TV screen.

The game was gone, replaced by the laptop’s desktop. Panicked, Hoshino Gen grabbed the mouse and double-clicked on the Red Skirt icon. When the game loaded, his eyes darted to the affection gauge.

It read: 37 (Acquaintance)—exactly where he’d left it last night.

Relieved, Hoshino Gen sighed. At least his efforts hadn’t gone to waste.