Reincarnated in a Dating Sim, But the Heroines Are Way Too Possessive!

When we arrived at the ramen shop, we were greeted by the smooth hum of jazz music, a sophisticated restaurant design that oozed charm, and a waiter who promptly handed us the menu.

It all felt so normal—too normal, in fact. The eerie atmosphere I'd braced myself for, the kind that screamed Hell itself, was nowhere to be found.

Instead, this was just your run-of-the-mill ramen shop, a simple place where people came to eat and chat.

The customers were lost in friendly conversations at their respective tables, and the waiters were focused on their jobs, gliding around with practiced efficiency.

There was nothing—nothing—that suggested a devil prince ran this place.

The name, Cauldron of Hell, and the promise of the "spiciest ramen in existence" seemed like nothing more than marketing gimmicks to make the shop stand out.

At least, that's how it appeared on the surface.

But the Future Diary in my pocket told a different story.

The ominous warning it gave me—the one about the torment I'd suffer—was tied to this very ramen shop. The same Cauldron of Hell.

So, the real question was this: Could this place, so unassuming and ordinary, really hide something far darker beneath its cheerful facade? Why here, of all places?

I couldn't shake the paranoia clawing at the back of my mind.

What if this shop had drawn the wrath of the devil prince himself?

What if he'd cursed it, transforming the staff and customers into monstrous abominations?

No. That was ridiculous.

But what if it wasn't?

What if the devil prince himself had succumbed to the same madness that was destined to consume us in the future?

The thought sent a shiver down my spine.

I shook my head, trying to snap myself out of it.

My mind was wandering too far, chasing shadows that might not even exist.

But no matter how hard I tried to dismiss the idea, it lingered like a bad aftertaste.

I mused silently, my eyes drifting over the bustling shop.

And unbeknownst to me, my musings were dangerously close to the truth.

Listening to my sister's trolling and the muffled sound of her silent laughter as she recommended the spiciest ramen on Alya's menu, I couldn't help but feel a mix of amusement and mild irritation.

It was a bizarre cocktail of emotions that simmered under my skin.

Is she even my sister anymore, or has she become one of those monstrous creatures I've heard about in Lovecraft tales?

Why does she sometimes act like the sister I remember—sweet, caring, and just a little mischievous—only to switch so abruptly into something else entirely?

Especially when she speaks to me, her tone changes, her demeanor twists into something alien, something unsettling.

But then, when she turns to Alya, she reverts to her normal, endearing self, that familiar cuteness laced with a sharp, sadistic glee.

That little spark of menace is oddly charming when directed at others, but when it's aimed at me, it's suffocating.

Who is she, really?

Is this girl truly my sister?

No... something doesn't add up.

Wait a minute... I remember now.

Yes, I fucking remember!

It isn't my sister who's broken or wrong; it's something else entirely.

There's a switch in her, an unexplainable mechanism that shifts her demeanor into this unhinged, monstrous state whenever she deals with me.

Her abnormality, her madness, only surfaces when she's directing her attention at me specifically.

And the most terrifying part of all? Rejection isn't an option.

If I reject her—if I say no to her requests—something bad always happens.

No, scratch that—something horrible happens.

Now I see the truth clearly: it's not about the ramen.

The keyword isn't some trivial dish; it's rejection. As long as I deny her, as long as I oppose her in any way, that monstrous form of hers takes over, and I'm the one who gets swallowed whole.

It's not just a guess anymore—it's the only theory I have to work with. The only thing standing between me and certain doom.

This is my one chance to flip the table, to regain control of the situation, to make sure I don't fucking die choking on some ridiculously spicy ramen.

"Brother, what do you think?"

My sister suddenly hit me with that question, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

The problem was, I had no damn clue what she was asking.

Not a single word registered.

This was bad… really bad.

If she'd been acting like her usual self—the carefree, teasing sister I knew—this would've been easy to handle. I could've thrown out some casual response to deflect her, and we'd move on like always.

But this wasn't her usual self. Not even close. Beneath that sweet smile and innocent demeanor, I could sense something darker—like a predator crouching in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.

A hidden monster, eager to unleash destruction.

"Yes, Kuze-kun, what do you think?"

And just like that, Alya joined in. Her voice was soft, but there was something sharp hidden beneath it, like she was trying to pin me down with her words.

My face darkened.

For fuck's sake. Just kill me already.

If it were possible to kill myself and be done with it, I would've done so ages ago. But no, I was stuck in this endless loop of suffering, trapped in some sick game where checkpoints didn't save me.

Every time I "died," what awaited me was an even greater torment, as if life itself was mocking me.

I hated my life. I hated myself. And I hated every single person who had shoved me into this fucked-up situation.

Screw all of it.

I was done with this drama.

"How about we share the same bowl of ramen instead?" I said, forcing a grin onto my face. "Yeah, just the three of us. How does that sound?"

It was a desperate attempt to steer things in a different direction.

I didn't even care if it worked. At this point, I was ready to give up and let whatever was coming swallow me whole.

Yeah, screw this. Let's all enjoy some boiling hot ramen and call it a day. Maybe it'd be like that scene in Future Diary where the tenth diary holder turned the tables on everyone by embracing insanity.

That didn't sound too bad. At least he got to die on his own terms—and as a cult leader, no less. Better than being tortured endlessly like the Eighth or Ninth.

A smirk tugged at my lips as I gave my suggestion. I didn't care if it was stupid.

For the first time in ages, I felt a strange sense of peace, like I was letting go of everything.

If this was how it ended, so be it.

The room fell silent.

My sister and Alya exchanged glances.

Instead of the storm I expected—the darkening sky, the monstrous forms revealing themselves—nothing happened.

The weather stayed strangely calm, and the eerie quiet pressed in like a weight on my chest.

Instead, my sister's lips curled into a teasing smile, while Alya's face turned a deep shade of red.

"Wow… Brother, you're such a pervert," my sister said, her voice dripping with playful jab. "If you wanted a kiss, you could've just asked me directly."

"What…? H-How could you ask for a kiss… A k-kiss…" Alya stammered, her voice trembling as her cheeks burned brighter than ever.

I froze, the realization hitting me like a truck.

What the fuck just happened?

...

Diary 11

[Finally, I fucking did it. I survived. I never thought that something as simple as sharing a bowl of ramen with them would be the key to making it out alive.]

[I didn't get boiled alive, and they didn't transform into monstrous versions of themselves. My sister and Alya… they're back to their normal selves.]

[No crazed laughter, no twisted smiles. Just… normal. I could finally talk to them again after leaving that goddamn ramen shop.]

[But listen, if you're reading this, don't take what I'm saying as gospel. This isn't a guaranteed solution—it's a warning. The methods that worked for me might not work for you. Hell, they might not even work for me again. This isn't some universal survival manual.]

[For example, in the fifth loop, the other me tried coping by being a NEET. It worked then—he found some twisted version of happiness. But when he tried the same trick in the next timeline? Endless torment. He didn't make it.]

[Same goes for the eighth, ninth, and tenth loops. They tried applying the seventh loop's method—holding back their emotions, keeping a straight face. Guess what?]

[They failed. They suffered. The diary's warnings are real, but the solutions? They're fickle, unique to the loop. What works once doesn't mean shit the next time.]

[So here's the thing: take the warnings seriously. But don't fucking rely on the methods. Survival isn't about copying what worked before. It's about figuring it out in the moment. That's the only truth I've found.]

I stared at my phone, scrolling through the entries in my Future Diary app, my mind spinning.

None of this made sense.

I didn't write any of that.

Not a single goddamn word. And yet, there it was—every thought I'd had, every paranoid suspicion, laid bare on the screen.

How the hell did it get there?

My thoughts weren't just written down—they were shaped into warnings, advice for another version of me.

But I never wrote them. I never even touched the damn app.

A cold chill crawled up my spine, twisting my stomach into knots.

Who's writing this?

I glanced around the room, half-expecting to see someone, something, watching me.

The air felt heavy, suffocating, as if the walls themselves were alive, leaning in to mock my confusion.

My fingers trembled as I clutched the phone, rereading the diary entries over and over, hoping for some clue, some explanation.

Nothing. Just my thoughts, staring back at me like a mocking grin from the void.

How is this happening? Why?

The feeling of dread hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest.

My heart pounded in my ears, my breaths coming shallow and fast.

This diary isn't mine.

But if it's not mine, then whose is it?