It feels mean to compare this to its predecessor but Virtue's Last Reward just doesn't have the sheer joy and thrill that Nine Hours, Nine Persons, Nine Doors had. Its lore simultaneously wants to develop and exacerbate the insanity that 999 spent slowly unspooling, but it doesn't want to approach that level of multifaceted storytelling with nearly the same drama or heightened sense of panic. When I learned of a new element within the story, I didn't feel as strong of a sense of bewilderment or clairvoyance-level realization, but rather a sense of mild satisfaction. That's the thing that gets me about this game, I suppose: It works, but it doesn't tug at my emotions as much as 999 did. The chaos is ramped up but it just doesn't feel as urgent or interesting.

The character drama in particular is maybe my biggest gripe with the game overall. Every conversation is considerably longer and more quippy at the cost of information density, there's this sense of irreverence that feels extremely out of place. Of course, you could blame this on the advent of the Danganronpa franchise and its mockery in the face of certain death, but that series has its moments to refrain from indulging in its hypersexuality and humor in service of a bigger idea that climbs towards a hostile thriller screenplay. Additionally, the irreverence is used to help build onto the dread—were it not for Monokuma's complete and utter disregard for his subjects' lives, there'd be less panic among them.

The characters in VLR, on the other hand, are poised to joke and shove corny banter in nearly every conversation given enough time, such that it stands to kill a lot of the intensity that the holistic story builds. I would much rather a short, important conversation than a long one that stands to remove any given amount goodwill I have for the main characters. This lack of brevity is also not helped by the gargantuan amount of time that it takes between various novel segments, showcasing a very annoying dot moving across the map for every single possible migration of the characters. At a certain point in my playthrough, I started scheduling for these intermissions and texting friends over actually trying to remain immersed with a medium that ejected me from immersion to begin with.

That's not to say it's a bad game, far from it—once again in no small part to the thoughtful escape room design employed with a similar (but not exact same) grace as its predecessor. The increase in difficulty is something I rather appreciate, even if it comes at the cost of breaking immersion sometimes. I especially appreciate the safe system, though it has its drawbacks with certain room-end puzzles. The broader story itself, divorced from being attached to the game and the individual writing choices I dislike, is excellent scaffolding around the original lore that 999 set up. It's just a shame that this story had to shake out this way, because as a game it fails to excite me beyond its lore and individual chambers.

EDIT, 23-MARCH-2024:

My neglect to mention the very casual misogyny present in this game is starting to bug me greatly, so allow me to comment on the reality that Sigma and the rest of the characters either are victims or enablers of horrific womanizing. In a shocking departure from 999's relatively minute jokes about sexuality that are unimportant, minor facets of individual characters only appearing once or twice, Virtue's Last Reward takes the bold move to make Sigma a sexual harasser. In every possible route, he is poised to interact with at least one of the female characters with a variety of dehumanizing and, frankly, horrible sex pestery. He even remarks that Clover (who in VLR is small and skinny but an adult) is seemingly jailbait.

Misogynist characters are not inherently detrimental to a story if it is done with the tact and angling that it deserves. I hold the idea that depiction is not necessarily endorsement of the depicted. However, VLR's main character being an incessantly horny poon-hound who can be led to do just about anything with the promise of someone's panties getting stripped off is so irritating after 20 hours of playing the game that it ceases to be worthwhile as a facet of a character worth exploring. There is no benefit to it in this story.

I've become convinced that there is no way to substantially improve this game, and/or its story, without drastically altering the final product and its core identity for the worse. If Spike Chunsoft's Danganronpa series is an exploration of character relationships dynamics at its most hyperbolic and brash, Nine Hours, Nine Persons, Nine Doors explores those same dynamics with the tact of a carefully crafted pressurized chamber. There are so many moments within each stroke and line that are created with the sole intent of increasing the dread between two characters, whether by sowing discord or pulling them together amidst almost certain death. The tension isn't overbearing at first but it builds and towers into this monolith of anxiety, to the point where its true finale brought me to tears on my first playthrough.

That's not to discount the gameplay, which is in effect perfected (for the most part) in the PC port but is just as gripping and fun in the original DS version. It's the type of escape room puzzling that I absolutely adore, fully realized and made even more gripping with the eclectic ways you craft solutions. Combining objects, altered arithmetic, careful dialogue traversal, it's all so wild and fresh as someone who plays around with this genre as a matter of habit, let alone taste—it makes me wonder just how much more developed this idea of room traversal and additive puzzle-solving can get if this game is the best I've seen the genre offer. It's such a shot of euphoria peeking through each individual notch in this labyrinth of rooms, putting together pieces and creating more puzzles. It's this type of design that makes me swoon and weep for more of its kind, even as the escape room genre wanes in its popularity little by little every year. This is the type of puzzle game I fucking adore, concentrated and purified to such an extent that replaying it was an immediate rush of dopamine and anxiety.