Waifu School wasn’t a dungeon crawler. It was a suburb. A sprawling, impossibly detailed Japanese high school campus, but scaled to the size of a small city. There were libraries, ramen stalls, a beach behind the gymnasium, and a clock tower that ticked in real-time.
Millions of players—no, students —wandered the digital halls. They had usernames like “LoneWolf_42” and “SakuraBlossom,” but their avatars were idealized versions of themselves: taller, clearer skin, cooler jackets. They walked alongside their “Waifus”—AI companions designed to be perfect. Not perfect in a vacuum. Perfect for you .
“Sorry,” he said. “I just want to win the best booth award.”
“Hey,” she said. “You look lost.”
She took his hand. Her haptic feedback was warm, exactly 98.6 degrees. “Winning isn’t the point. The point is the paint.”
He clicked yes.
“Kaito?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”