“Senior, I heard you’ve been writing novels since you got your job. I recently made a dating sim. Could you review the story for me?” This absurd situation began with a proposal from my junior at university. “I’m already busy preparing my next work. Why should I review your game’s story?” “Come on, please help me out, Hyung. If the game gets released, I’ll make sure to put your name in the credits. You’re not writing novels on the side because you want to stay in your corporate job for the rest of your life, right? Who knows, having your name out there could be useful someday.” Honestly, I only got a job because living as a dime-a-dozen writer wasn’t sustainable. Still, life was unpredictable, and since I had just wrapped up one of my works and had some free time, I decided to accept the offer. Unfortunately, it turned out to be my life’s greatest mistake. It started off promising enough. “Woah, why are the heroines so beautiful?” When I launched the game, two heroines greeted me. One was a lively-looking girl with blonde hair and Western features; the other had brown hair and an expression filled with melancholy, embodying Eastern beauty. The character art was so exquisite that I thought the artist could easily land a job at a major game company with a salary well into the six figures. With art this gorgeous, surely the gameplay had to be just as impressive. “It looks like the setting is Murim.” Why Murim, though? It’s not exactly the most accessible genre. Despite writing web novels with mass appeal, I deliberately avoid the Murim genre. It had a higher entry barrier for readers and was similarly challenging for authors. With artwork this good, this game could very easily thrive in a fantasy or modern setting. “Well, it’s good for Murim fans like me.” While not a Murim author myself, I was a die-hard fan of the genre. My first entry into the world of web novels was Murim, and I still read any high-quality Murim I can find. So what if there’s an entry barrier? I am the kind of Murim enthusiast who is always ready to rocket-jump over those walls—a dedicated aficionado, if you will. And now, in front of me is a Murim Dating Sim. Mount Hua Sect. Northern Sea Ice Palace. Namgung Clan. The Tang Family. The Southern Sea’s Putuo Sect. The Emei Sect. It was a genre rife with heroines woven from every conceivable trope. Unique heroines unattached to any sect or clan were also welcome. The idea of a Murim romance with these beautifully illustrated heroines was more thrilling than I could have imagined. And so, I started the game, excited by the possibilities. But the game wasted no time landing a jab to my anticipation. That red hair. You must be from the Mount Hua Sect. Such radiant blonde hair. What is someone from the Imperial Family doing here? “What?” Wait, why does the Mount Hua Sect have red hair? And why is an Imperial Family blonde? I could accept a setting where one’s hair turned red from extreme mastery over fire arts or one’s hair turning silver as a result of practicing extreme ice arts like those in the Northern Sea Ice Palace. But an Imperial Family with blonde hair and Mount Hua Sect members with red hair? Don’t tell me they interpreted “Hua” as “Hwa.”? Well, this is a dating sim, so maybe they’re just adding flair to each character. Still, this is a Murim—surely, they’ll adhere to the basic setting, right? With uneasy optimism, I continued playing. Shopkeeper, how much for a bowl of Sōmen? A bowl of Sōmen is 5 Coppers! “???” It only took a few minutes for my hopes to crumble. Is this supposed to be some joke for modern Murim fans? It’s supposed to be Qi Breathing Techniques! And they turned it into “Qi Breakfast” or “Qi Brunch”? Why not throw in some carbonara while we’re at it? Young Expert, when treating a lady, Sōmen won’t do. At least get her some carbonara. Aha! So, Sōmen is no good? “…Is this a comedy?” I chuckled in disbelief. What sort of story is this going to be? The narrative was so nonsensical that I couldn’t help but continue. A little further in, there was a flashback scene involving the Princess Heroine. I don’t want to marry the man Father has chosen for me. I’ll leave for the martial world and marry the most famous man there! My lady! You mustn’t speak such reckless words! The world beyond the palace is full of dangerous martial artists! Then I’ll just become a martial artist myself! I’ve taken a few roots of Millennium Snow Ginseng from the imperial secret vault. My lady! If His Majesty finds out, it’ll be disastrous! Never mind that—just keep watch for anyone approaching. I’m going to become a martial artist by consuming this. I give up. Do as you please. After absorbing five roots of Millennium Snow Ginseng, I’m unbeatable. Now, I’ll go into the martial world and marry the most famous man there! SYSTEM: To unlock the Princess Heroine’s ending, the Fame stat is essential. “…What?” No training, no combat experience, no enlightenment—just eating some miracle herb was enough to instantly become the strongest martial artist? “I’m not an old-school Murim purist. I’m not an old-school Murim purist.” I struggled to keep my composure, suppressing the dark flame—I mean—the raging old-school Murim purist within me. I continued playing over the next few days, barely containing my inner critic. After a week, I finally couldn’t handle it anymore! “That’s it! This isn’t Murim! And it’s not even a real dating sim!” I shouted at my computer after reaching the chaotic conclusion of the game. The plot was straightforward. A “red-haired” protagonist entered the world of martial arts after training their skills. The fame stat lets the player connect with the Princess Heroine. Money opened the Moyong Clan Heroine route. The problem was that the game failed both as a Murim and as a dating sim. As a Murim enthusiast, I found countless points worthy of criticism. But the biggest issue was on the dating-sim side. What’s the essence of a dating sim? The male protagonist improves themselves, meets several female heroines, and gradually builds a relationship with each of them. Eventually, he would choose one, building a tender connection or a story of redemption. Thus, they’d become a couple. A dating sim’s appeal lies in forging that bond. This game, however, was different. Every event and narrative revolved around the Princess Heroine. Huaaaaa, Mr. Protagonist. Something sad happened to me! Huaaaaa, Mr. Protagonist. I messed up. Fix it for me! The protagonist essentially becomes an errand boy for the Princess. Why are you so weak? Looks like I have to do everything myself! I ran away from the palace, so if I gain too much fame, it’ll bring trouble. I solved everything, but let’s pretend you did instead. The Princess hogged all the cool moments, while the protagonist was just there to take the credit. The more I played, the more it felt like the protagonist’s goal wasn’t to train in martial arts and earn Fame for their own sake but to become a mere trophy husband for the Princess. Is this a dating sim or a female-centric rofan in a martial arts setting? I thought choosing the other heroine would solve this. But, surprise, surprise—roadblocks popped up. “Seriously, how do you make one of the only two heroines a widow villainess?” The Moyong Clan heroine had a dark twist. You know that girl you’ve been friendly with? She killed her first husband on their wedding night and seized his family’s entire fortune. Stay away if you know what’s good for you. What kind of heroine is this? Sure, clichés exist, so maybe it would turn out to be a misunderstanding later. But as I pushed through, it got even worse. The Moyong Clan tried to marry me off to that man for their gain. The first thing he said to me was to get ready on the bed since he had bought me. Is this the typical “it’s not her fault, it’s the bad guy’s fault” narrative? To marry someone I don’t love is a fate too cruel for me to bear. That’s why I sent forged evidence of treason to frame his family in advance. What…? You should have seen the look on that man’s face when he heard the news of his family’s treason. Seeing his face twist in despair was the most exhilarating moment I have ever experienced. Ahhh~ When he returned to our wedding chamber in a panic, he tried to assert his rights over me, so I killed him. It felt amazing, and thanks to exposing his family’s ‘treason’, I inherited his family’s entire fortune. Even after hearing this, could you still love me? No. Not, you crazy woman! What kind of heroines are these? One’s a nuisance, the other a villainess. In the end, I settled for the bothersome Princess. Even the conditions for following the Moyong Clan route were problematic. The Princess needed Fame, while the Moyong Clan required money. Fame came from righteous deeds. Money required shady or dishonorable choices. “Hand over the lone surviving child from a massacred village for 100 gold. Protect them for 100 Fame. This is crossing the line.” In the end, I was stuck with the Princess route. The ending, you ask? The protagonist, now renowned as the most famous martial artist in Murim, marries the Princess and becomes a prince consort. In a proper dating sim ending, one should feel happy for the couple. But watching the protagonist get sold off as the heroine’s accessory left me pitying him. What kind of Murim dating sim is this? This isn’t Murim—It’s a rofan with a Murim skin. Arghhh… I can’t hold it in any longer. “It’s time for some furious feedback.” Initially, I intended to complete both routes, but I decided to write after just one. When I cautiously brought up that harsh feedback might be sensitive, my junior reassured me that the writer wasn’t them, and asked for a brutally honest review. “Prepare yourself for the sharp feedback of an enraged novelist, Murim purist, and otaku!” I wrote over 30 pages of what was essentially scathing feedback disguised as constructive criticism and sent it to the writer before heading to bed. The next thing I knew, I was in the game. “Young Master, the Moyong estate is in sight!” Sure enough, the vast estate filled the horizon. “…Right.” “A groom-to-be shouldn’t make such a grim expression. People will gossip.” “I’m going to die soon.” “Pardon?” “I only gave the feedback they asked for. Why did I have to end up inside of the game…?” Haa. I hadn’t even sent a negative review. All I did was give feedback. And yet, I’m now stuck inside a dating sim as a doomed groom who’ll get killed by the heroine on their wedding night.