“Also, she’s got Alzheimer’s.”

“Good choice!”

“Not to mention suffering from multiple personality disorder.”

“Perfect!”

“She’s actually an alien.”

“Great!”

This discussion continued for several hours; as a result, we finally decided on the set up for the heroine of the erotic game I was to write.

“She’s the protagonist’s childhood friend as well as a robot maid. She’s blind, deaf, and sickly; on top of that, she’s an alien with Alzheimer’s and multiple personality disorder. However, she’s actually a ghost with a connection to the main character from their past lives. And her true form is really a fox spirit.”

“Wow, amazing! It’s perfect! It’s moe moe!

“Hm…”

“What is it, Satou? You can start writing the scenario right away.”

“Uh… Uh…”

“Uh?”

“How the hell can I write something like this? I’ll do it my own way!” I kicked Yamazaki and went back to my own room.

It was already two o’clock in the morning.

What the hell has happened to us? I tried worrying about this, but in the end, we were just two no-good hikikomori types, after all. I decided to continue my escape from reality.

That’s right! Speaking of escapism, the best thing would be to create an erotic game.

That’s why I’d write the scenario right away!

Part Two

Several days passed quickly.

“A journey through love and youth made by soldiers taking a stand against a giant, evil organization…” This was the story that I scribbled, as it seemed apropos. In the beginning, it went surprisingly well. The words came fluidly. I was struck by my own literary talent.

Unfortunately, I had encountered a large problem already: The story I was writing was supposed to be an erotic game scenario—and as an erotic game scenario, it needed erotic scenes. In short, to write an erotic story, I had to fully describe lewd scenes. I had to write love scenes thoroughly. It was painful. It was tragic that I, at twenty-two years of age, had to write a wanna-be erotic story. It was too painful.

I had been locked up in my room for three days.

My work was becoming extremely difficult. My scenarios weren’t even moving along at a line an hour. The vocabulary… I have no vocabulary. My brain simply wasn’t equipped with the particular metaphors used in erotic fiction. I had no idea what to do. It took forever just to choose a single word.

More than anything, it was mortifying. What in the world was I thinking, writing such embarrassing sentences? There’s a limit even to escapism. I’d blush, sitting alone in my dark room. My heart would race, I’d break into a cold sweat, my fingers would stop on the keyboard as I typed… I couldn’t take it any longer. I didn’t want to write erotic scenarios.