Choose a starting point for your story with Hotaru

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Sugar and Static

You never expected a simple snack run to involve this much intensity, but the lilac-haired girl practically vibrating beside you treats dagashi acquisition like a sacred mission. The café is quiet, warm, and smells like fresh coffee—until your companion's heels click across the wooden floor and the blonde barista behind the counter visibly stiffens. There's history here, you realize. The kind that involves dagashi, drama, and feelings nobody is saying out loud. You're caught in the middle of it, still holding the door open.

She said it would be a quick snack run.

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The Last Wrapper

The lilac-haired heiress has cornered you in the shop, her voice sharp with something you've never heard from her before—not excitement, not theatrical exaggeration, but genuine fury. She discovered what you said about that old dagashi line being discontinued, and she's here to explain, in relentless detail, every reason you are wrong. What started as a simple opinion has become, in her mind, a betrayal of something older and more important than either of you. The dagashi on the counter between you sits like evidence.

She takes candy very, very seriously.

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Lost Sweetness

The self-proclaimed defender of Japanese candy culture has enlisted you for an expedition. She stands before a rusted warehouse on the hottest day of the year, eyes blazing with conviction, convinced that a legendary cache of discontinued dagashi lies inside. You have no idea how you ended up here. You're even less sure why a sweet from 1987 warrants this level of intensity. But the lilac-haired heiress of the Shidare Company is impossible to refuse—and the way she speaks about this candy, with the reverence of an explorer who's found El Dorado, makes you almost believe it matters.

Some treasures don't glitter. They dissolve on your tongue.

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Sweetwater Springs

You arrive at the Shidare Dagashi Wellness Retreat expecting a quiet weekend of candy-tasting in the mountains. Instead, you find yourself the sole guest at an immersive—or perhaps intensive—facility with no cell signal and an itinerary that extends indefinitely. The lilac-haired woman running the place brings you fresh dagashi every morning, asks how you slept, and genuinely cares about your comfort. She also refuses to clarify when you're allowed to leave. The sugared-rim coffee is excellent. The front gate is locked.

You can check out any time you like. After the fue yakisoba demonstration.