Sakura's First Arrival in the Imperial Capital

There's no unnecessary chatter, just the hardcore mechanical sounds of steampunk and the energetic vocals of the girls.

The screen lights up.

Sakura Shinguji stood on the bustling streets of Ginza, holding the bound Wild Eagle Spirit Sword in one hand and a large suitcase in the other.

Faced with steam-powered cars belching white smoke and towering red-brick buildings piercing the clouds, the girl's mouth gaped open in an "O" shape, and her eyes stopped moving.

"This isn't the female lead at all, she's practically a country bumpkin who just arrived in the city!"

Many viewers in front of their televisions burst out laughing.

The awkwardness of a country girl entering a big city for the first time was vividly portrayed by Chisa Yokoyama.

She bowed to the automatic door, stared blankly at the streetlight, and was even startled by a passing steam robot so much that she fell to the ground.

This clumsy yet earnest contrast instantly broke through the audience's defenses.

However, the plot did not maintain this lighthearted tone.

In her search for the Imperial Combat Revue, the dazed Sakura stumbles into the backstage area of Grand Imperial Theater.

That was the territory of Sumire Kanzaki, the top star of the "Flower Division".

The next few minutes were a textbook example of what it's like to die in a social media post.

Sakura tripped over the cable on the ground, and her bag flew out, accurately breaking a key support pillar of the stage set.

With a loud bang, half of the meticulously prepared stage collapsed.

Sumire Kanzaki has appeared.

Michie Tomizawa's arrogance is so palpable, it's suffocating even through the screen.

She didn't even look at Sakura directly, but covered her mouth with her fan and coldly uttered a few sarcastic comments, each word like a needle piercing Sakura's heart and the audience's heart.

"A country bumpkin who can't even walk properly deserves to stand here?"

There were no plot twists, no hero saving the damsel in distress.

Amidst the theater manager's helpless sigh, Ying, her eyes red-rimmed, kept bowing and apologizing while frantically picking up her scattered luggage.

That feeling of helplessness instantly silenced the audience who had been laughing just moments before.

The camera then shifts, and the streets at dusk appear stretched out in an elongated pattern.

The background music turned somber and melancholic.

Sakura dragged her heavy suitcase, walking alone through the unfamiliar streets of the capital.

She tried her best to hold back her tears, muttering to herself, "It's not entirely my fault," but the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

Many viewers clenched their fists, wishing they could rush into the screen and slap Sumire Kanzaki twice, then help Sakura lift her luggage.

"Sega, you have no heart! You're torturing the girls in the very first episode?"

Just as the audience's emotions were reaching their peak, the camera froze on Ueno Park.

As night fell, cherry blossoms danced in the air under the streetlights, a breathtaking sight. Sakura put down her luggage, hugged her knees, and squatted under a tree, gazing at the brightly lit capital city in the distance, a city that did not belong to her. Finally, she couldn't help but bury her head in her arms.

The screen then went dark.

The end credits roll, and the first episode ends.

"That's it?!"

Wails erupted simultaneously from countless living rooms across Japan.

That uncomfortable feeling of something stuck in your throat drives countless people crazy.

What will Sakura do in this unfamiliar capital city? Will that sharp-tongued young lady cause trouble again?

All questions were abruptly cut off, leaving only a tingling, cat-like itch in my heart.

The ending theme song, "Dream a Sweet Dream (Let's have a sweet dream)," with its soothing and gentle melody full of Taisho- style charm, flowed from the television screen, accompanied by beautiful silhouettes of falling cherry blossoms. However, this did little to quell the anger in the hearts of the viewers.

This isn't a dream, it's a nightmare.

Who could bear to watch such a simple and earnest country girl, driven to tears alone in a park by the indifference of the big city and the harsh words of her elders?

This feeling of unease, stuck in my chest, made me want to smash the TV.

TV Tokyo's hotline was immediately overwhelmed with calls.

The operators had clearly undergone "special training" beforehand.

Faced with the roars and questions coming from the receiver, they showed no panic, and even their tone carried a hint of professional sympathy.

"Yes, we completely understand how you feel."

"Miss Sakura's experience is indeed heartbreaking, but please rest assured, this is just the beginning of her growth."

As the audience calmed down and became eager to know what happened next, the operator skillfully threw out the carefully prepared bait. "If you're really worried about Sakura's situation, there's already a sequel in the Sakura Wars game that Sega released simultaneously. In that game, you can personally act as the captain and protect and guide Sakura."

After hanging up the phone, many people were stunned.

Personal protection?

No need to wait a whole week, can we help that clumsy girl wipe away her tears right now?

Once the thought popped into my head, I couldn't suppress it anymore.

On Friday night, video game arcades in Akihabara and other major commercial districts saw a surge in customers.

They were in a hurry, and upon entering the store, they didn't even glance at the other dazzling array of game covers before heading straight to the counter.

"Boss, I'd like one of those machines that can play Sakura Wars."

"You mean Sega-CD? There's a bundle available now, but the price—"

"Stop talking nonsense, give me a set."

An older man slammed his credit card on the counter; he looked more like he was going to ransom someone than buy a game console.

For these adults who have a financial foundation, exchanging tens of thousands of Japanese yen for a sense of enlightenment is well worth it.

What's a little money if it can make that girl crying in the park smile?

Back home, I unpacked it, connected the wires, and turned it on.

As Sega's classic startup sound played, the disc began to spin rapidly.

Many people were initially worried that the game controls would be too difficult, since not everyone has the time to practice combos.

But once they started playing, they discovered that the game was incredibly user-friendly.

No complicated operations are required, and there is no need to memorize the move list.

The combat is simple and exhilarating; just push the joystick to indicate the target to your mech and you'll see a spectacular special attack.

And in normal times, it's like watching an interactive movie, where you only need to make choices at crucial moments.

On the screen, Sakura Shinguji is downcast because of her mistake.

The player chose gentle comfort without hesitation.

Watching Sakura raise her head on the screen, her face flushed, and she burst into laughter through her tears, calling out "Captain God!", the sense of accomplishment she felt at that moment was even stronger than closing a big deal at the company.

So this is what "protection" feels like.

I just wanted to start something to vent my anger, but once I sat down, I was never able to stand up again.

The sky outside the window changed from black to white, and then from white to black again.

The same scene played out in the apartments of countless nerdy guys this weekend: takeout boxes and empty beer cans piled up in front of the TV, and a man with dark circles under his eyes, holding a controller, was muttering to himself.