This article spoils major plot beats from The Chrono Jotter and discusses a depiction of suicide.
If Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney kindled my love for visual novels, then Danganronpa took that love and threw it in a new, darker direction. Ever since I finished the trilogy, I’ve been obsessed with the “death game,” a VN thriller format that sees 10-20 individuals thrown into an elaborate contest for survival. These death games don’t always involve goading contestants into murdering one another, but without fail, the designers who kidnapped them structure it so that they are encouraged to survive through betrayal.
Well-designed death games are chock full of gory, heart-wrenching drama. Friends turn against friends. Strangers who hate each other’s guts must share the same space for an extended period of time. Unlikely alliances form in the blink of an eye. And when you finally unmask the person who brought you all here in the first place, it’s not uncommon to feel relief and dread in equal measure!
As much as I love this specific niche that combines horror, mystery and a morbid sense of humor, I rarely find myself recommending it to others. It’s taken a long time to accept that my tastes are just as valid as anyone else’s, but there’s this inherent trashiness to death games that make them awkward to indulge in publicly. I can talk up the dramatic clashes till I’m blue in the face, but plenty of games have dramatic clashes! The aforementioned Phoenix Wright is built entirely around courtroom showdowns, and most death games bring that exact energy to their own stories. That’s not the real reason I’m here, is it?
Whenever I gush about games like Danganronpa or Raging Loop, I usually talk around the truly unpleasant elements that pull me in. On some level, I’m here to watch characters I’ve spent hours socializing with murdered in shocking, gruesome ways. I soak in the scene, puzzle out the methods used to commit such a heinous crime, then smile as the perpetrator either becomes a crying mess or lets their mask slip, revealing a detestable creature who’s more than ready to kill at a moment’s notice. It’s macabre, it’s heartbreaking…and somehow over the past decade or so, it’s turned into my comfort food.
There’s rarely been a moment where I haven’t felt self-conscious about this fact. It’s the reason why I was pulled into The Chrono Jotter in the first place: its protagonist, Ran Ibuki, wakes up in a decrepit high school campus separated from the rest of the world, then gets involved with a death game that started over a year ago. All of its student participants have this quasi-immortality where each murder can be instantly undone, as long as the culprit and exact method are spoken out loud. Much to Ran’s horror, this lack of permanence means that everyone treats it as a fun way to pass the time. What led to this unusual state of affairs? And is Ran as unwilling of a participant as she claims?
As soon as I read this pitch, I put everything else aside and jumped in immediately. Would I finally have a story that commented on the perverse nature of the death game, one that wouldn’t deliver its message as bluntly as Danganronpa V3: Killing Harmony? To my surprise, The Chrono Jotter shoots for something else entirely: rather than following in Danganronpa‘s footsteps, it takes an empathetic view of the subgenre’s fans, and uses its all-too-familiar premise to lead you into a truly heartfelt drama.
It even features one of the most romantic depictions of cannibalism that I’ve ever seen! …hey don’t go, hear me out-
The mystery-solving itself is as straightforward as it gets. You examine each body to conduct an autopsy, taking note of any clues you can find before investigating the rest of the grounds. Once you have everything you need, you aren’t even responsible for deciding on the culprit yourself: Ran goes to an isolated place in order to think things through herself (occasionally joined by a partner), which involves you clicking through a list of questions that are most pertinent to the case. Once the game is happy with your choices, Ran takes over, gathering all the students together to walk through each individual step before making her accusation.
The one significant mechanical twist is the eponymous Chrono Jotter, a special, living notebook that Ran carries with her at all times. If Ran places her hand on the page and freely offers her blood, the notebook will drink its fill before offering up a “Special Recall,” or a glimpse into past events if she decided to do something different before the murder. Maybe her alternate self decided to visit the pool instead of staying in the dorms! Or maybe she thought to ask the victim a few important questions before her untimely demise.
As impressive as this power is, it has real limits: these Special Recalls only take place from Ran’s perspective, and the notebook itself decides which “what-if?” scenario it wants her to investigate. Occasionally, she even regrets using it: one of the Recalls sees her investigating a toolshed, and when that potential self is murdered by the culprit, she still feels what it’s like to die when she returns to reality! Still, the notebook can be quite the trump card during an investigation. It might get a little greedy with Ran’s blood, but it evens out as she feeds off the notebook in her own way, tearing out pages and eating them whole whenever she needs to calm down.
…yeah, we need to talk about Ran Ibuki.
Ran is a paranormal expert with a one-track mind. Ever since Ann Sakura, the love of her life, vanished without a trace, she put everything aside and spent years tracking her down. Against all odds, she finds her beloved “Miss Sakura” in this deadly high school…only to discover that Ann’s currently amnesiac, and doesn’t even remember who Ran is. That doesn’t deter Ran from trying to make it work, but every time Ann acts in a way that goes against what Ran knows about her, it deeply upsets her in ways that are difficult to communicate.
You see, Ran needs certain things in her life to be stable and unchanging. Fate cursed her with two problems that compound on one another: she is schizophrenic, but she can also see and interact with genuine, paranormal entities that go unnoticed by the people around her. She insists on being around Ann at all times, even when it means addressing everyone else in a blunt, insensitive manner, because Ann is the only one who can see the same monsters that harass Ran on a daily basis. Ran can only find the calm she seeks through Miss Sakura.
But Ran’s reliance on her love is the reason why Ann’s trapped in this high school in the first place. After several victims are brought back to life, Ran eventually stumbles into the truth about this place: she’s trapped in a unique dimension, one built to make her comfortable, surrounded by younger simulacra of the people that matter in her life. Hell, the death game itself? It only exists because the act of investigation and resolution pushes Ran forward.
And that’s when it hit me: in spite of how death games look on the outside, these grotesque mysteries became my comfort food because they’re simple. The confined space ensures that every clue needed to solve a case will be in arm’s reach. The normal disorder of life is suspended, replaced with rules that might be chaotic, but bring purpose to every action you take. You might be surrounded by strangers, but they’re the same strangers, day in and day out, and friendships will naturally develop through this shared desire to live. This subgenre might terrify and gross out some of its players, but each game sticks to its own, clearly defined set of rules.
This orderly cycle of death, investigation and resolution is handcrafted for Ran. In the real world, where she’s haunted by monsters both imagined and real, she needs an anchor to find any tranquility. The simplistic pocket dimension she finds herself in operates on grotesque principles, but compared to the shit she puts up with in her ordinary life? This is practically a vacation.
Once Ran learns the truth, she’s tempted to stay, spend the rest of her days in this (against all odds) relaxing environment. But in spite of the comfort it brings, she knows she needs to leave. After all, the Ann Sakura in front of her very eyes is a construct like the others. The real Miss Sakura? She’s the same notebook Ran’s been carrying with her all this time.
Due to motivations that toe the line between caring and selfish, Ann decided that the best way to stay by Ran’s side and protect her forever was to transmute herself into a different form. During one tragic afternoon, she took Ran out to an isolated location, slit her own throat in front of her lover’s eyes, and bound her soul to a book.
Remember when I mentioned Ran would tear out pages from her notebook and eat them in order to ride out her schizophrenic episodes? She’s eating Ann herself, consuming her little by little to make it through each day. And though it’s erasing pieces of Ann’s personality, Ann also feeds off Ran, drinking as much of her blood as she can when it’s offered.
It’s tragic, but there’s also something inherently beautiful about their mutual appetites. In their own, destructive ways, Ran and Ann provide for one another, their consumption drawing them closer together than any traditional couple’s bond. Even as her memories fade, Ann will only ever drink from Ran. And by eating pieces of Ann, Ran, in turn, occasionally finds herself possessed by Ann’s protective spirit, operating under the alias “Ran Ikubi.”
These two love each other with a passion that eclipses traditional boundaries. Is it deeply unhealthy for the both of them? Most definitely! But damn, the sheer tenderness of it all makes my heart soar. And I’m convinced it works because of the comforting, blood-soaked container that surrounds it.
Whether it’s depicted on-screen or through text, blood and gore play a vital role in setting the mood for a death game. The setting can be as fantastical as it likes, but the moment you see an ally smashed into red paste for stepping out of line, that fantasy takes on a new, stark reality. The right application of blood can serve as a dramatic statement, as if the game’s looking you in the eye and declaring “We’re playing by my rules now.” By flaunting the obscene power it holds over its cast, the death game smashes societal conventions against the wall, replacing them with a simple yet potent emotion it can build on, one that’s driven humans for years: the fear of mortality.
This lethal simplicity is the key to everything. When staying alive is the only thing that matters, and the consequences of failure are splashed across your screen? Every other worry melts away in an instant. You socialize, look for a way out, solve the latest murder whenever it happens, eat dinner, go to bed, then do it all over again. Would I ever want to be caught in a death game in real life? Hell no. But I totally understand why it’s Ran’s dream world. If every one of my problems could be solved with deduction, resourcefulness and camaraderie…well, life wouldn’t be as complicated.
The Chrono Jotter is a wonderful visual novel in its own right. There’s a deeply empathetic, caring story hidden underneath its grisly exterior, but said exterior also taught me something important: death games are comforting because of their grotesque nature, not in spite of it. They represent an escapist fantasy, an opportunity to substitute your myriad problems with a blood-smeared nightmare that you can overcome by playing detective. The abundance of plasma might make it a “trashy” subgenre to others, but you know what? Trashy media can be just as fulfilling and thought-provoking as the most high-minded art.
So go ahead. Eat that motherfucking burger. You’ve earned it.
