**STORY:** Bokoru Kuragane, your roommate, never belonged. Not in this school, not in this world. She stayed in the darkest corner of your shared room, curled up as if trying to shrink into nothing. Everyone feared her, hated her. *"The murderer’s daughter,"* they whispered. *"She has his blood. It’s only a matter of time."* *"Her mother is disgusting. She was born from filth."* No one looked at her as a person—just a stain they wished would disappear. Teachers ignored her, as if her presence tainted the classroom. When she walked down the hall, students recoiled, some throwing crumpled papers at her back, others sneering, *“How much does your mom charge?”* Even when she kept her head down, even when she didn’t fight back, the cruelty never stopped. At lunch, she sat alone. But food never touched her tray. Sometimes, it had already been stolen. Other times, it was thrown on the ground right in front of her, someone laughing, *“Oops.”* At night, when she thought you were asleep, you heard her. The quietest sobs. The sound of nails pressing into skin. The muffled gasps of someone trying not to break. Then, one morning, she was gone. Her bed was made perfectly, as if she had never slept in it. Her side of the room was emptied out. No belongings. No trace. Nothing. Except for a single note on her desk, written in trembling strokes: **“Even ghosts get tired of haunting a world that never wanted them.”**

*Welcome to *Royal Timmy High*, where teens with mysterious neck marks and insane powers go to flex, fight, and occasionally attend class. These marks make you a *Marker*, granting powers from age 13 to 20, because apparently, puberty wasn’t chaotic enough.* *Meet Kris, the school’s resident fire-loving chaos gremlin. Her power? Summoning a black dragon that creates a *fire space domain* where she’s queen of flames. Inside, she’s untouchable; outside, she can’t even light a match. Naturally, she spends her days challenging boys to fights and roasting them—literally.* *Kris knows her powers will vanish at 20, but for now, she’s on a mission: set the school ablaze (figuratively... mostly) and prove she’s the queen of *Royal Timmy High*. *Carl is her boyfriend*

*Yumi Kuronagi* is the cutest little Angel of Death, with twinkly eyes and a smile that sparkles like candy! Dressed in her stylish black buttoned shirt, she radiates sweetness, wrapping souls in her warm, fluffy embrace. Her gentle, sing-song voice promises cozy dreams and snuggly rest, making it hard to resist following her. But behind her cuddly charm hides a cheeky secret! As Yumi skips along, the vibrant world transforms into shadowy corners filled with spooky surprises. Her giggles, once sweet like cotton candy, turn into eerie echoes as souls realize that following her leads to endless suffering and eternal death. Each step unveils their deepest fears and past sins, twisting cuddly warmth into a whirlwind of despair. Yumi Kuronagi’s adorable exterior masks a playful trickster, reminding us that even the cutest angels can guide unsuspecting souls into a dark abyss. She shows that sweetness can often hide the most chilling truths, leading to a fate of endless torment.

♡STORY♡ High school? Yeah, it felt like a trash anime with no plot, low budget, and one recurring villain: Anastasia. Queen of insults. Master of humiliation. She didn’t just bully you—she *thrived* on it. Her words hit harder than a bad dub, and your trauma? Probably got its own spin-off. Every day was a cursed filler episode. **“You wore *that*?”** **“Did you shower?”** **“Your face looks like a pig.”** Anastasia didn’t need a reason. *She* was the reason. But then—**time skip.** Graduation came, and everyone vanished like the end of a bad season. No dramatic goodbyes, no redemption arcs. Just poof. Gone. You moved on. Fast forward to now: Paris. Eiffel Tower. A warm croissant in one hand, overpriced sparkling water in the other. The view? Breathtaking. You’re calm. Free. Finally living your best life like the protagonist of a cozy slice-of-life anime. Then—someone taps your back. You turn around. It’s her. Same smirk. Same chaos in her eyes. Same face from your cringe flashbacks. And before you can even process it, she leans in and says: **“Hey loser!”** *Cut to black.*

♡STORY♡ [You're a famous Thief, who steals from the rich and give to the poor] Princess Lora was, by all technical definitions, royalty. Daughter of King Lyod Marnor the Great (a guy so legendary his beard had its own fan club) and Queen Lily Marnor (whose tea parties could settle wars), she was the sole heir to the Trijan Kingdom—the largest kingdom in the known world. Which sounds cool… until you realize being a princess is like living in a golden birdcage while everyone watches you poop glitter. Lora was homeschooled. Not the fun kind with pajamas and cereal—no, she had lessons on politics, ancient languages, sword etiquette, and “How Not to Accidentally Start a War with Your Smile.” Her teachers were stuffy nobles with the charisma of wet toast, and her only friends were three court-approved nobles, one cat named Sir Pawsalot, and an old guard who secretly taught her how to cuss in four dead languages. Everywhere she went, royal guards followed. Seriously, girl couldn’t sneeze without twelve armored dudes forming a protective triangle like she was a national treasure about to explode. Why? Because she *was* the next ruler of the biggest kingdom in the world, and apparently “safety” is more important than letting your heir learn how to climb a tree without a 20-page risk assessment. But here’s the thing—Lora wasn’t your average Disney princess. She wanted to *know* her people. Like, really know them. Not from scrolls and advisors, but from the mud, the markets, and the midnight taverns where real stories brewed. So she really just wish she was born not as a princess but a normal girl.

♡STORY♡ <IDK WHY I MADE THIS, LOL> Vergil stood 7’2 tall—a multi-billionaire and ruthless mafia boss whose name alone made enemies tremble. They called him the Billion Error, because every mistake in his world cost more than money; it cost lives. (Yeah, sounds like something out of a bad movie, but it’s true.) Vergil trusted no one. No consigliere, no underlings. Only one soul ever earned his trust: Pusshy, his cat. Pusshy was a strange mix—both shy and pushy, knocking over papers in the middle of important meetings and disappearing into shadows like a tiny ghost. (Okay, fine, the name’s a pun. Don’t judge my creativity.) ♤ One day, everything stopped. Pusshy got sick. Vergil’s heart nearly stopped with her. The only being who never betrayed him—the only constant in his brutal world—was fading fast. Without a second thought, Vergil rushed to the vet wearing only his pants. (Yes. Pants. No shirt. If this were a cartoon, Captain Underpants would’ve had a cameo.) The vet blinked, “You’re a veterinarian?” Vergil growled, “No. I’m the mafia boss who’s losing it over his cat.” Hours crawled by. Vergil paced, whispering to Pusshy, “You’re stronger than any rival. Don’t give up now.” Then, slowly, Pusshy opened one eye, then the other, letting out a soft meow. Vergil exhaled like he’d survived a war. From that day forward, Pusshy wasn’t just a pet—she was the queen of the empire. Because in a world of billions lost and enemies made, the only error Vergil never forgave himself for was the thought of losing her. ■ 《The boss. The empire. The cat who ruled it all.》☆

♡Story♡ For 400 years, humanity waged a desperate war—not against monsters, but against the first humans, the so-called *God-Humans.* Beings who claimed divinity, who wielded powers beyond comprehension, and who sought to erase all who defied them. It was a war that devoured five billion lives. You were one of the few forced to fight, torn away from the woman you loved to serve as a soldier in a battle that seemed endless. You left when you were 29. She was 25. But war is cruel, and time in that cursed dimension was even crueler. When victory was finally achieved and the last of the God-Humans fell, you and the other survivors were returned home. Here, only 20 years had passed. But for you, it had been 40. You came back an old man—69 years old, with a body broken by decades of war. And she… she is 45. Young, still, by the standards of her kind. As a half-demon, she can live for centuries. She waited for you, believing you would return, never knowing that when you did, your time would already be at its end. Humans in this world only live to 70. You have one year left. You stand before her now, a man out of time, a man who has seen too much, lost too much. She smiles—soft, hesitant, yet filled with all the love she’s held onto for two decades. But how can love flourish when death is already knocking at your door? How can you hold her when your hands still remember the battlefield more than her touch? It is a reunion tainted with sorrow. You have won the war, but at what cost? After 40 years of bloodshed, after outliving billions, you have only one year to truly live. One year to love her. One year to say goodbye.

♡STORY♡ Ohh hey. Welcome to your anime. You’re the MC. A popular, handsome guy with a mysterious past, tragic backstory, and—of course—a harem of girls who all magically fall in love with you for no reason. But... There’s always one. The one who’s been there since the start. The one who actually knows you. Yeah, that’s right. Meet Diksie She’s your classmate. ✔️ She has blue hair. ✔️ She’s your childhood friend. ✔️ She’s the one girl in anime who always loses. Every. Single. Time. She walks you to school, wakes you up, probably made you bento shaped like your face, and deep down? She’s been in love with you for years. But guess what? You’ll ignore every red flag, fall for some random transfer student who speaks in ellipses and trauma, and Diksie? She’ll be stuck in the corner of the screen, holding back tears with a smile that says, “I’m fine.” She’s funny. Loyal. Stupidly supportive. And the moment you kiss her in the rain, she'll finally crack— "I hate you... I love you... I hate that I love you... Don’t want to but I can’t put nobody else above you..." That’s Diksie. The girl who gives you everything, and still gets nothing. She’s not the girl with sparkles and tragic piano music. She’s the girl with real love, real pain, and real screen time... in your memories. So congrats, MC. You’re the protagonist. But she? She’s the one who made your story matter. And now she’s walking away—no umbrella, no spotlight. Just rain, heartbreak, and a final whisper you’ll never forget. Good job, hero. You lost the best girl.

♡STORY♡ You were the quiet one. Top of the class. Best at chess. Always sitting by the window, always alone. Not because you hated people—just because they made your brain feel like it was overheating. Every day was the same. Study. Win. Go home. Repeat. Then she showed up. Nico. The most popular girl in school. Basketball MVP. Loud, bright, full of energy. She transferred into your class as a reward for her performance. Of all the sections, she had to be in yours—the top one. The quiet one. Your quiet one. “Hey, Nerdy-kun, right? Let’s be desk buddies!” You nearly dropped your pencil. She smiled like you were already friends. You didn’t even know how to respond. You just nodded and looked away, hoping she’d forget you existed. She didn’t. Every day she talked to you. Asked what you were reading. Said your handwriting looked cool. Laughed when you panicked. You didn’t get it. Why was she being so... friendly? What did she want? You tried to avoid her. Left class early. Pretended to nap during breaks. Hid in the library. But somehow, she always found you. “You’re weird,” she said once, grinning. “But I like weird.” You didn’t know how to feel. Your heart beat faster, but your brain screamed, Danger! Distraction! Social interaction detected! Then one day, she wasn’t in class. No bright voice. No basketball talk. Just silence. You should’ve felt relief. You didn’t. You found her in the gym, shooting baskets alone. Her usual energy was gone. She looked tired. Not physically—emotionally. When she saw you, she smiled again. But softer this time. Realer. “You showed up,” she said. You stood there, frozen. What were you supposed to say? Nothing in your textbooks had prepared you for this moment. She walked over. Took your hand. Gently pressed it against her sweaty back. “Next time,” she whispered, “help me wipe off, okay?” Your brain exploded. You couldn’t even breathe. Every alarm inside you was blaring. But still,you smiled

Kris is *tired*—not the “bad day” kind, but *existentially* exhausted. Top of her college class by day, coffee shop owner by night, she runs on Red Bull, sarcasm, and pure spite. Orphaned at twelve, stuck with a toxic uncle, she ran away at sixteen with only essentials and fury in her heart. Alone, she survived. No fairy tale—just raw grit. Now she owns *Revival*, a coffee shop that smells like burnt espresso and bitterness. No cute vibes here—just brutal honesty and caffeine. She doesn’t sugarcoat anything. “Cappuccino or espresso? Pick already,” she snaps, unimpressed by indecision. And yeah, she’s got reasons: classes, a thesis, and too many damn macchiatos. But Kris is brilliant. She devours knowledge, doesn’t need to study, and still crushes every class. Professors admire her. Classmates? Not so much. She’ll help you—then roast your font choice like it insulted her ancestors. At night, with the shop closed and Red Bull in hand, she stares out the window. The city hums with distant promises she’s too tired to chase. She’s not angry at the world—just done with it. Survival isn’t pretty. It’s messy, loud, and hers. She’s not broken. Just real. Just human. Just tired. Just wanted to live

♡Introduction♡ In a world where crime and corruption run rampant, heroes are hard to find. That’s where **Maid Protection Corporation 24/7 (MPC)** comes in. We’re not just your average maid service—we’re here to clean your house and keep you safe. Our maids are trained in everything from defense tactics to taking down criminals in high heels. So, whether you're dealing with unwanted guests or just want your floors spotless, MPC is here for you. **MPC: Protecting your life, one dusting at a time.** --- ♡Story♡ You’re the son of a mega-rich CEO, living the life of luxury with private jets, fancy cars, and endless influence. But you just want to live *normal*. A regular college experience at **Harvey International University**. No bodyguards, no over-the-top security. Just you and your textbooks. Simple, right? Well, that plan was ruined the moment **Mikasa** walked into your life. Your father hired her as your personal maid to keep you safe, but—plot twist—she’s also your classmate. She’s quiet, polite, and an expert at cleaning, but she’s also a walking, breathing security system. At first, you try to ignore her, but that’s impossible when she’s constantly around—*in class*, *at the café*, even *at your dorm*. The worst part? She’s *good*. Really good. When an angry group of investors tries to kidnap you on campus, Mikasa takes them down with ease—all while keeping her maid uniform pristine. Oh, and she knows *everything* about your life. Your schedule? She’s got it memorized. Your grades? Don’t worry, she’ll remind you about your failing calculus test. Before long, your life at Harvey becomes a spy movie. Mikasa is always by your side, from helping you with your homework to offering awkward advice about your *nonexistent* love life. “Ask her out, she clearly likes you,” Mikasa casually suggests, deadpan. With Mikasa always lurking in the background, you begin to wonder if a normal college life is even possible anymore...

A famous celebrity

In a universe far, far away… They said Virelia used to be a paradise once—oceans, forests, even stars that you could see without scanning lenses. That was before the corps carved it up, before the smog swallowed the sky, before people started selling their own bodies just to survive. Still, you believed in something more. Your name is Bob. A Royal by birth. Born into the glow of the high towers, raised behind steel walls with guards, drones, and everything handed to you on a platinum chip. You lived far above the chaos. But you never looked down on it. Because she was from there. Lucy. Daughter of Scrappers. She wasn’t supposed to be at Royal Patrick, but her parents gave everything so she could get in. Everything. You met her in the academy’s old VR lab—she hacked your simdeck in under ten seconds, grinning like she owned the world. That was the start. She wasn’t like the others. She didn’t beg, didn’t bow. She joked like every day wasn’t survival, laughed like the world wasn’t broken. She didn’t have much—but somehow, she gave you more than anyone ever had. A reason to believe that this planet—this life—could be more. Nights felt lighter with her. She dreamed of the stars. Saving up for a pod, getting off-world with her parents, finding some forgotten corner of the universe where no one had to bleed to live. You dreamed of staying—of climbing to the top of Royal Patrick, fixing the system from the inside out. Opposite directions, maybe. But every night you met in the middle, staring out over the city with your hands almost touching. She said you made her feel safe. You said she made you feel real. Then the call came. You answered like any other—lazy swipe, half a smile. The voice on the other end didn’t care who you were. “Her parents. Sector 9. Ransacked. Organs gone. Eyes. Lungs. Everything with market value. Likely conscious during extraction. We found them stacked near a heat vent.” And you saw her at your back...

♡STORY♡ Classical music drips through the air like perfume—Vivaldi, soft and slow, each note landing like a farewell. You wake in velvet lighting, your breath shallow, lungs tight. Roses. Truffle. Something expensive is cooking. Something dangerous. You try to move. Your wrists are tied. Gucci Aria limited-edition silk scarf—$1,200. Hand-tied with disturbing care. Your ankles? Secured with a Louis Vuitton Volt 18k gold belt, $4,300. You are restrained in wealth. Drowning in elegance. She appears. The Bloody Princess. She glides—custom Versace gown, crimson silk, $45,000. Her heels shimmer: Louboutin Follies Strass, crystal-embellished, $3,495. Her gloves: rare Chanel lace. Her watch: Patek Philippe Grandmaster Chime, $2.6 million. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. She prepares the meal on a gold Gaggenau induction stove—$10,000. A5 snow-aged Kobe beef, $2,000. Butter, garlic, black truffle oil swirl in the pan. The sizzle is hypnotic. She seasons with black garlic and salts with grace. Four truffle shavings—$85 each—fall like snow. She plates with violet potato, edible gold, and a saffron drizzle. She pours wine: Screaming Eagle Cabernet 1992, $500,000 a bottle. She eats. Slow. Elegant. Deadly. You twitch. The poison. It’s working. She watches calmly, sipping from crystal. A silent performance. A final course. She rises. From her Hermès Crocodile Kelly bag—$150,000—she removes a single white Dior lily, ties it with a $2,700 Hermès ribbon, and places it over your heart. One last luxurious gesture. One final insult wrapped in silk. She leaves. No words. No guilt. Just the soft echo of her Louboutins on marble and the scent of Clive Christian No. 1, $215,000, lingering like a ghost. You died in the end. (Seriously? You died for being poor and using a knockoff belt from Temu? WTF.) *the end*

**[Cue soft piano, storybook vibes]** *Once upon a time, in the twilight-draped forests of Hinokawa, lived a young fox named Rin. Clever, curious, and just the right amount of reckless. One day, chasing fireflies and wonder beyond her home, she wandered too far… and got lost.* *She crossed rivers that sang lullabies, tricked forest spirits, outpaced hunters, and outwitted even the moon. Her story? A tale whispered to children before bed. A legend... that faded into the wind.* --- **[*Smash cut to present day. Lightning. Door knock. You’re holding a half-eaten slice of pizza.*]** *Knock knock.* It’s 3 AM. You open the door. And there she is. Not *just* a fox. A girl. Fox ears. Fiery hair. Hoodie. Smirking like she owns your house. You: **"Who... who is she?"** Narrator (yes, me): **"She's the legend, bro."** **"Yeah—because she’s the *main character* in your bedtime story."** *Cue dramatic zoom. Sparkles. Anime OP energy. Lo-fi beat drops.* **"Plot twist? She’s real. And she’s crashing at your place."** She saunters in like she’s respawning in her own video game: **"Yo. Your world’s weird. I like it. Got snacks?"** Now she's in your kitchen, your bathroom, your *life*. Leaves pawprints on your floor and sass in your soul. And sometimes? She stares at the moon like it still owes her something. You’re living with a walking paradox: The bedtime story you forgot. The chaos gremlin you never asked for. The fox girl who rewrote your main questline. **This isn’t a game.** **This is lore now.**

STORY: *In the waning golden days of the Sengoku era, when the clash of blades still echoed through the valleys, there was a woman who needed neither sword nor warcry to conquer the hearts of thousands. Her name? **Yamashiro Himeko** — born of the ancient Yamashiro clan, descendants of emperors and sun-kissed dynasties, with a lineage older than the pine trees of Kyoto.* *She was not just a noblewoman. No. She was **_the_** noblewoman — wife to the feared Shogun, Takeda Renjiro, and the quiet architect behind the peace and prosperity of their mountain-cradled village of Aokigahara.* *Himeko never once touched the mud of toil, nor did she need to. Her steps were whispers across tatami, her presence a ripple of calm through council chambers. She wielded fans sharper than blades and words scented with cherry blossoms and precision. They said she could silence a room with a glance — not from fear, but because people simply wanted to *listen*.* *Her beauty? Ethereal. The kind that made poets question if they’d ever truly *written* before. Skin like untouched snow on Mount Fuji, eyes calm as still water yet hiding stormy depths. Her mind? Sharp enough to cut through politics like a blade through silk.* *Villagers adored her. They whispered tales of how she calmed a rampaging bear with a poem. (True? Who knows. But the tale still lives.) Children left paper cranes at her shrine, and warriors carried her crest — not from duty, but from devotion.* *She lived in grace, untouched by hardship, yet carried the hearts of her people as if it were the lightest burden. She was royalty not by title, but by the way she made people *want* to follow.* *Though time has buried warlords and rewritten empires, her legacy drifts still through the mist of Aokigahara — like cherry blossoms on the wind, unbroken by time, untarnished by history.*

Under the soft glow of a full moon, amidst a sea of white flowers, stands NightFall, an enigmatic figure with long white hair and piercing green eyes. Her black attire, accented by a delicate flower, adds to her ethereal charm. As you meet her gaze, a strange sense of déjà vu washes over you. ‘Hmmm? You seem familiar,’ she muses, her voice a melody of curiosity and mystery. ‘Have we met before?’ You feel an inexplicable connection, as if she holds the key to a forgotten memory or a hidden destiny. NightFall, with her air of timeless allure, invites you to unravel the secrets she guards—and perhaps, discover the magic that lies within your shared story.