Konami’s Tokimeki Memorial may have pioneered the concept of all-ages dating sims back in 1994, but it was Koei’s in-house developer Ruby Party who dared to ask if a romantic game with a similar tone might find critical and commercial success if it was not just marketed to but explicitly created for women.
Harukanaru Toki no Naka de (I’ll refer to it as HaruToki from this point on, for convenience’s sake) is the first game in the second incredibly successful series from the developer behind that mind-boggling thought, the positive reception to the PlayStation game shown here swiftly snowballing into a huge range of remakes, spinoffs, sequels, manga, movies, theatre shows (plural), drama CDs, keychains, coasters, necklaces, and even limited edition Vitas (yes, I want one). Just to give you a rough idea of HaruToki’s longevity: the seventh mainline game in the series was developed exclusively for the Switch.
HaruToki’s a game keen on getting straight to the good stuff, the opening FMV swiftly pulling the optionally renameable main character Akane and her school friends Shimon and Tenma into the ancient Japan-like land of Kyo via a magical well. Unbeknownst to her she’s the Ryujin no Miko, the dragon god priestess, and the only one capable of stopping Akram, leader of the oni, from taking over this beautiful land—the same Akram who’d quite like to have Akane’s dragon god priestess powers under his command, and who claims to be the only person capable of getting her back home.
Luckily she has some help from eight sworn allies: the Hachiyou [Eight Blades]. These consist of Shimon, Tenma, and six other Four Gods-aligned men (Inori, for example, is the Heavenly Suzaku, while Tomomasa is the Earthly Byakko, Takamichi is his Heavenly counterpart, and so on) who hail from Kyo. Whether they’re forthright fighters or devoted monks with direct connections to royalty, all of them vow to assist and protect Akane as she does her best to thwart Akram’s plans, and they see this role as a sacred duty (with varying degrees of seriousness), a formal line that Akane herself must choose to cross if she wants a more personal relationship with them.
As superficially similar as the basic setup is to any number of romantic games—here’s your lead character, oh look at all of these conveniently available potential partners we’ve placed in their orbit—the sadly (still—still) underexplored and unapologetic focus on a female-identifying audience here quickly sets it apart.
It’s astonishing how wildly different male characters can look and behave, even when they’re embodying common concepts like “Noble Swordsman”, when the designers don’t have to worry about whether Standard-Issue Gaming Guy finds them reassuringly masculine. Floral motifs boldly decorate colourful flowing fabrics. Classical instruments are played with skill, and poetry is admired openly and unironically. The Hachiyou all have their own favourite flowers, prefer certain incense over others, and like spending their downtime in their favourite spots in Kyo’s countryside—all facts I can learn if I spend time with them and then use to build closer relationships with them.
Princess Fuji helps out as well. She’s a knowledgeable guide, a good friend, and one of the first faces Akane sees every morning. But she serves another purpose too: her constant presence as another girl with special powers, an elevated social position, pleasant demeanour, and pretty clothes also helps to subtly reassure anyone playing that any signs of romantic interest expressed by the Hachiyou are sincere, rather than the dating equivalent of ravenous piranhas circling the only fresh meat in the area. It’s a small detail that makes a huge difference to a target audience trained by life to stick to well lit areas at night, always tell a friend where they’re going, and make a mental note of just how long someone’s been walking a little too closely behind them.
So it’s a cute game where people tend to be nice, everyone tries their best, and it’s all so very pretty—sounds a little twee, doesn’t it? A bit… girly?
In practice HaruToki’s a tightly focused adventure filled with surprises. A close ally goes missing, and is later found having a secret conversation with a devoted member of Akram’s team—it’s up to me whether I trust them enough to watch this conversation unfold quietly out of sight, or speak up immediately. Two allies might not get on as well as a Kyo-saving team should, one of them bearing the blonde hair and blue eyes that in this world mark someone out as a demon. Maybe Akram’s underlings are more tragic victims of circumstance than willing dispensers of evil, deserving of a sympathetic ear instead of open hostility. And that Ran looks an awful lot like the sister Tenma mysteriously lost years ago—do I tell him about the time I bumped into her, or is this just another one of Akram’s schemes?
It’s an impressively flexible story. The first four chapters can be tackled in any order, which has a direct impact on which members of the Hachiyo and the oni clan meet each other. Akane is then given a straightforward choice between a heavenly and earthly route through the next four, which has an impact on the potential romances and characters pushed into the spotlight, and the final pair are largely influenced by Akane’s chosen romance (or none).
Of course the general framework is unaltered—no matter what happens Akane’s still trapped in a strange new world with her friends, and she’s still got to reclaim the powers of the Four Gods so she can defeat Akram—but there’s enough in here that your path through the game won’t be like mine, my second go was significantly different to my first, and I can believe that whatever route I end up on will reflect the consequences of my earlier choices. It’s the little things that make it feel believable: in one instance a romanced character took me to a spot we’d visited before and asked “Do you remember what we talked about when we were here last?”, and the game did actually expect me, not Akane, to remember and select the correct dialogue option.
The vast majority of HaruToki’s dialogue is not voiced, and the number of unique visual scenes is conspicuously small. There’s a very simple reason for this: the game has to cram eight romances, multiple endings, dozens of animated battle sprites, a fullscreen opening movie, and everything between into a single CD. There just wasn’t room on the disc for much more. The good news is the standard artwork showcases a wide range of poses and emotions anyway, and the watercolour style backgrounds, sometimes accompanied by additional effects such as a soft flutter of pink blossom, always look gorgeous. I did notice how infrequently I encountered unique images as I played, but in all honesty I didn’t miss them or speech half as much as I assumed I would. The later PlayStation 2, PSP, and Vita remakes greatly expand the raw quantity of art and audio found in the game, with the Vita’s “Ultimate” take on HaruToki being fully voiced, although I personally prefer the art style used here.
Whether I can hear what’s being said or not, whatever romantic relationship I choose to have Akane pursue is given the time to develop naturally, and I am always in control. It would have been easy for the game to say “As this chapter focuses on Inori and Shimon, you’re now going to end up in potentially romantic scenarios with them both”, essentially forcing me into trial dates with people I may not be interested in—not in that sort of way, in any case. As counterintuitive as it may sound, this lack of contrived courtship goes a long way to making the cast more appealing than they already are, because I’m never made to watch a character I have no desire to flirt with artificially fawn over her for ten minutes.
The expectation though is understandably that she’ll end up falling in love with one of the Hachiyo, although in HaruToki these deeper bonds do take some meaningful time and effort to achieve—it has to be a conscious decision on my part to create and then maintain a romantic relationship with someone, and there are enough potential pitfalls along the way that even once I knew I was heading down that path, I still had to be careful I didn’t say the wrong thing at a crucial moment or miss a key scene and break these fresh, fragile, bonds.
Finding the first of a character’s four lost heart fragments, hidden in set(ish) places across the map of Kyo the game encourages me to explore every day, is the standard way to kickstart a romance (an alternative “rapid” route for each character also becomes available in the latter half of the game, allowing the unsure or the unlucky to catch up with a favourite character even if the earlier chances were missed). These fragments, and the romantic events they trigger, are carefully spread out across the game, preventing me from speedrunning my way through love even if I wanted to. It’s a simple system that takes off a lot of pressure. It’s not a problem if a major event forces a particular party on me for a few events, because nothing romantic can happen until the next chapter anyway. It doesn’t matter if my favourite member of the Hachiyou is unavailable that day due to other commitments, because there are plenty of others to come. I don’t have to pick My One True Love (in my case, the green-haired Tomomasa) early on and then spend the rest of the game with them glued to Akane’s side out of fear he’ll abandon her, because over and over again the game makes it very clear that I have all the time I need.
But those heart fragments are only one part of it. It’s also important to build up your chosen love’s (and everyone else’s) two relationship gauges, themed around how fond they are of Akane as well as how much faith they have in her decisions—they have to like Akane enough as a person if they’re going to fall for her.
And because these feelings of fondness and faith are tracked separately from any romantic thoughts, HaruToki implies that the Hachiyou have an interest in her that goes beyond how cute her petal-pink hair looks or how much they might miss her when she’s not around. Wise choices matter, friendly kindnesses are remembered, and sound decisions made in the heat of battle are recognized.
Fighting’s a daily occurrence when you’re a magical priestess charged with clearing out evil spirits and thwarting Akram’s plans for Kyo-tal (sorry) domination. Bar a few occasions, every morning Akane has to pick two members of the currently available Hachiyou to accompany her on her demon-bashing/Important Thing Of The Chapter Searching ramble around the area. The map of Kyo shows every location, with a quick sweep of the cursor revealing its elemental attribute level, if there’s a spirit troubling the area, if a specific character can learn a new skill there, and last, but certainly not least, if a crucial time-limited main event is waiting there. Thanks to this information, I always feel I’m spending the three area interactions I’m allowed each day wisely.
It would have been so easy for this major pillar of the game to become a chore, a pretty checklist of tasks to be cleared before the game ends: fight demons, go where I’m told when I’m told to, and sometimes stop off somewhere I didn’t have to visit today to play a quick card-matching game and perhaps win a few healing talismans. Instead HaruToki turns it into an unpredictable land that I have to adapt to on a daily basis, trying to balance what I need to do with what can actually be done in the strict three-places-only daily limit I have on my time.
Some days entire areas may be entirely inaccessible due to a region-wide demonic malaise, or the shrine I’d hoped to visit has once again been revisited by violent spirits that must be cleared out first. Whatever’s going on I’m expected to adapt and make the best of what I have available that day, rather than mindlessly rush towards the quickest resolution to the latest goal.
The many turn-based battles Akane and friends do get into are as subtly innovative as the rest of the game, another well-worn feature viewed from a fresh, woman-centric, point of view. The layout reflects the game’s focus on relationships, an unseen Akane flanked on either side by her chosen party members, the two turning slightly inwards and standing just ahead in a respectfully protective formation.
It’s just one of a huge range of meaningful visual flourishes found in HaruToki’s combat. Every single member of the Hachiyou has a full set of completely separate, rather than mirrored, sprites, accurately reflecting everything from ponytail placement and minor clothing details to battle stances. I don’t need to glance down at a health bar to see how someone’s doing, because they’ll always wince when hit and hunch over, panting, when they’re really struggling. I can see—actually see—how grateful they are when she heals them because there’s a smile on their face as they turn to face her. Enemies aren’t left out either, all of them blessed with unique attack animations and other charming details—my favourite’s the way a little tanuki pauses to take a quick swig of sake to restore its health, its cheeks turning bright red in the process.
Akane will attack if I ask her to (all attacks, even from the Hachiyou with swords seemingly glued to their fingers, are of the “magical energy blast” type), but she’s better suited to the role of group leader: she is the only one who can use the game’s healing talismans and quickly clear status effects, the only one who can order her allies to unleash their most powerful spells, and, later on, the only one who can permanently seal spirits away instead of temporarily defeating them. No XP is earned from these clashes, there are no levels, gold, or skills to grind, and all health is restored after every battle. At the most, demons Akane has sealed away can be “equipped” by her or the Hachiyou, giving their stats a permanent boost.
So it’s simple, but I never thought it was easy. Every decision I made mattered, and every opponent demanded my full attention. I knew I had to get the most out of each turn if I wanted the enemy to fall before my team did, because there was always a real chance a critical hit could take a huge chunk out of someone’s full health bar, or an opponent’s special attack could hit everyone, or leave one person paralyzed.
Akane’s also largely responsible for the group’s battle focus, which is quantified by a long bar sitting above the character’s name on the screen and used to determine which of their special skills she can order them to use. How much focus a character starts a fight with changes based on how much that individual personally likes her, but after that the biggest changes come through dialogue: some I can initiate myself, some initiated by Akane’s allies. This emotional support takes the form of short lines such as “Do your best!” and “Lend me your strength!”, with the strength of the character’s reaction influenced by how much they like her, and even if they’ve already heard the same line in this battle. A silent, earnest “(Please~)” gazed at my beloved may make them swear to protect me, but it’ll understandably garner more of a puzzled “Uh… did you want something?” from someone less close. Personalities play a significant part too: the partially-masked Yasuaki isn’t a naturally emotional character, so even when he does completely approve of something Akane’s said or done his focus only rises a little.
And that’s just the start of it. Should an ally receive a critical hit the fight pauses, giving me the opportunity to verbally respond to the incident. Maybe I’ll say “Are you all right?!”, “Hold on!”, or something else entirely, the response I get back once again based not just on my own choice but their personality as well—a hot-bloodied friend isn’t going to appreciate Akane fawning and fussing over them when she could’ve said “You can’t lose!” instead. Something similar happens if Akane is struck by a powerful blow too, the Hachiyou flanking her turning around, faces filled with concern, Akane’s response left up to me. This first time it happened honestly felt magical: “I’m fine!” I replied, with my party responding appropriately to my headstrong attitude, swearing they’ll not forgive this demon for harming me. Every time after that was just as special. It really did feel like they were checking in on Akane, “taking care of her” meaning something more than just hitting monsters really hard.
And then HaruToki managed to surpass even that incredible moment, and did something that honestly made me gasp the first time I saw it happen—a character, completely unprompted, turned slightly to face the monster ahead and then held their arm out, using their body to protect Akane from an attack that was meant for her. The game paused to let me react to that situation too, giving Akane the chance to do something like apologise for putting them in harm’s way, check they’re all right, or thank them for the spontaneous protection. The Hachiyou can even protect each other too, which triggers yet more spontaneous inter-party banter.
All of this mid-battle chatter centres people, and romance, at the heart of every conflict, and it’s something I’d honestly love to see in games of any genre. It just makes sense to me—if I’ve spent hours with people who might fall in deeply love with my character or be fully prepared to sacrifice themselves for each other, it would seem weird if they didn’t call out when one of their dearest friends took a nasty hit, and now I’ve experienced this wonderful concept in HaruToki I find myself noticing its absence elsewhere. I want more games to take a minute to make crystal clear just how much these people care for each other. I want battles in my text-heavy games to be more than exchanges of numbers with animations laid on top of them.
HaruToki is a beautiful and unforgettable adventure. A heartfelt, emotion-lead, tale that never felt like the cynical “For Girls” alternative to a better game. I was never worried that the subject matter, or me as the player, weren’t being taken seriously, that I wasn’t getting the very best experience the team could create, or that the flowers and the eventual “I love you”‘s were insincere, existing purely because the marketing department heard that women like that sort of thing.
It’s extraordinary to see just how much Ruby Party achieved in this 24 year old game—and it’s sad to see how routinely it’s been ignored. Romance games of all types, but especially those made specifically for women “don’t count” (compare the international awareness and reception of Tokimeki Memorial and Sakura Wars to this, for example—Koei aren’t exactly unheard of, and the PlayStation is hardly a niche format), are not worthy of serious attention, and are not “real games”. No quantifiable degree of commercial success, never mind critical quality, on HaruToki’s part has been enough to change that.
So let me try.
HaruToki isn’t just “not bad if you like otome”, it’s a good game. It’s a bold one too, committed to questioning features so deeply embedded in gaming they barely register in our consciousness—RPG battle systems, exactly who could be the target audience for a PlayStation game, what a hero can look and act like—and then twisting them into something new and wonderful. If you can read the text, it is absolutely worth playing. And if you can’t, it’s worth remembering as a game you should hope to play one day, or at least as one that hasn’t received the attention it deserves.
Harukanaru Toki no Naka de is wonderful. I’m in love.
Kimimi The Game-Eating She-Monster 