In Altera Earth, Gods exist. In fact, they are the ones known to be the ones who gave humans Flux. Also, the Flux types are based on the Five Goddesses. And also, the seasons affect Flux too.
There are four seasons on Altera Earth; winter, summer, spring and autumn. In each season, Flux capabilities are increased. In Winter, the Combat Flux potency is increased because the Goddess of Combat represents the season.
Winter starts at the New Year and ends exactly at the thirty first of March. And now, it's been 21 days since I transmigrated, and it's March 7th.
The First Dominia Quest, University Arc, The Azure Blade Shining In Moonlight, starts at March 7th.
From Valentine's Day to March 6th, MoDS didn't have a lot to go on apart from meeting Thales Erdict and the protagonist helping him with the First Evaluation Test. Naturally, the heroine was supposed to have a good relationship with Thales Erdict by now and after March 7th, they should be able to get along. However, because of that butterfly effect of accidentally meeting Verdamona during the admission, things changed. Verdamona dislikes Thales Erdict. I took the role he was supposed to play.
It happens right during the practical training of a Fluve Field outside the island. A lot of first year students head to a Fluve Field that actually evolves. Inside there, Thales Erdict and the heroine work together to guide the 300 students for the next seven days. However, the main reason the players didn't like playing this mode is because of one reason.
It was a quest with a route.
The Seven Day Fluve Field Quest wasn't just another practical exam. It was the turning point of the University Arc and in MoDS, this was the exact moment the mask of a "typical" otome slipped away.
At first glance, everything seemed normal: the protagonist, surrounded by 300 first-year students, working alongside Thales Erdict to shepherd their peers into a seven-day training expedition. On paper, it sounded like bonding exercise and a chance for students to grow familiar with their Flux and learn how to cooperate.
Unlike the visual novel-styled decisions the players were accustomed to "go left" or "go right," "flirt" or "stay quiet", this wasn't just flavor text or affection-points. Every decision in the Fluve Field was irreversible.
There was no do-over.
Once the heroine made a choice, the game locked it in permanently, autosaving immediately. The players couldn't reload, backpedal or second-guess. Even if they regretted it, even if they knew it was the wrong call, they had to live with the outcome.
And the outcome was brutal. The game always guaranteed survival for the heroine. That was the one safety net. She would make it out of the Fluve Field alive, no matter what happened. But the students under her care depended entirely on her judgment. If she made the wrong decision, whether it was leading the group down the wrong path, failing to recognize a Fluvium nest, not giving adequate supplies or misjudging trust in the wrong student, the consequences were immediate. Students died and not just as statistics either. MoDS made the deaths visible.
Players would watch as characters they had seen named, faces they'd seen animated and classmates they had been attending lectures with for the past 20 in-game days, fell into traps, were mauled by Fluviums, or turned into husks by Flux corruption. Their numbers would tick down: 300 to 289. 289 to 274. 274 to 256. Every misstep was carved into the player's conscience.
This was when players finally understood that MoDS wasn't a typical otome game with flowery romance routes and endless resets. It was mercilessly dark. The first time a player chose incorrectly and saw a group of five students ambushed by Fluviums, their screams echoing through the headphones, their bodies dragged into the ground while the system coldly displayed:
[5 Students Lost. Remaining: 295]
The fandom exploded.
What made it worse was how interactive the deaths were. They weren't background fatalities. Players were forced to fight alongside the heroine as she tried to save whoever she could, and that was when the game introduced its combat system.
Up until then, MoDS had been marketed like a hybrid otome-management with gacha mechanics, but when the heroine's Flux first activated in the Fluve Field, it shattered expectations. Combat wasn't passive. It wasn't some text box resolution. It was a real system. Players suddenly found themselves in direct control of the heroine, commanding her Flux abilities against the Fluviums in fast-paced encounters.
Each student had a different role. Some fought with spears or blades, others maintained shields or barriers, while others supplied support. The heroine's Flux became the centerpiece of survival and it wasn't pretty. The Fluviums weren't "monsters" in the cute RPG sense. They were grotesque, shifting things that screamed through the sound design. For many otome fans, who came in expecting flowery prose and romance mechanics, the whiplash was enormous. They were suddenly thrust into survival horror. At first, they hated it. Forums filled with angry posts:
"Why is my otome game making me babysit 300 NPCs I can't save?"
"What do you mean I can't reset? This is insane."
"I just lost 45 students because of ONE wrong choice. I'm never playing again."
But that anger turned into obsession because there was something intoxicating about the tension. It was addictive to know every choice mattered. Unlike other otome games, where affection routes could always be retried until perfect, MoDS forced its players to carry the weight of their mistakes. If they stumbled through the Fluve Field with only 120 students surviving, they had to live with that. Their save file became their story as the game went on.
And in time, players realized this was the hook. This was what made MoDS different from other games. The otome mask was thin, and beneath it was something far more sinister. MoDS had gacha pulls for characters, yes. MoDS had romance routes that the heroine could follow, yes, but the true soul of the game lay in the despair of its choice quests. Players discovered that the game wasn't about "winning" or "perfect clearing." It was about enduring. It was about navigating a world where the protagonist always lived but not everyone else did.
Every death reinforced the stakes. Every bad choice carved scars into the save file. And when the heroine emerged from the Fluve Field on the seventh day, leading however many remained, whether 289, 240, or 95, the players were left staring at the hollow victory screen, knowing exactly where they had failed. That was the genius of it. It made MoDS unforgettable and so popular when the first update came out.
It wasn't just another otome game. It was a dark odyssey where love and survival collided, where romance blossomed under the shadow of tragedy, and where every player carried their own unique story of who they saved, who they lost, and what they chose when it mattered most.
And today is the day when this would finally happen in real life.