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They called it the wind that never left the valley: a thin, silvered current that slid between bamboo groves and the carved stone faces of old shrines, carrying whispers that never sounded quite like any one language. Elder villagers would point at the mossed Torii and say, with the same tired reverence, “Kagachisama walks,” and children would race one another toward the shrine on stormless afternoons to see whether the bell would tremble without a hand to ring it.
Kagachisama had been the valley’s secret long before anyone in the present remembered. Half god, half weather, half-fable—these fractions never added up cleanly. He favored the ridge that flanked the eastern rice terraces, where wind met hill and hills met sky. He kept watch with an expression carved from patience and a hunger that could be read only in the patterns of leaves when they fell. People brought him jars of sake and folded paper prayers, and he allowed the harvest to swell and the rains to be sensible, as long as the offerings were not tainted by greed.
Onagusame arrived in winter, when the moon was a pale coin stuck between clouds. It was not so much that she came; she settled, like cold on the bone. The villagers first noticed her presence in the wells—water that had been clear turned ink-dark for a night, and the koi paused in the current as if they remembered a name. Where Kagachisama was wind and memory, Onagusame was the slow, inevitable pressure of the earth. She traced lines beneath rooftops and under floorboards, and sometimes the wooden thresholds whispered of distant iron. More than once a cat left the village in a straight line and did not return.
The story of how they met—if meeting can be said to have been a single moment—began with a cedar post. Long ago, a traveling temple craftsman named Ito had carved a post for the innkeeper’s house: an ornamental pillar meant to hold up the beams and the eye of the hearth. Ito worked through the night and, when dawn found him, pressed his forehead to the post and wept. His tears embedded themselves in the wood like dew. The villagers said it was not sorrow but a prayer: for safe passage, for a child’s heartbeat to steady, for the bridge across the northern stream to hold.
Kagachisama came to watch the post because where prayers lay thick, the wind could read them like braille. Onagusame came because the post’s roots reached, in a line the eye could not see, toward the great fault that ran like a seam beneath the valley. They both found Ito’s carving to be a kind of map.
For three seasons they circled, each leaving tracks the other followed. Kagachisama braided stray banners into new songs. Onagusame pressed low through the loam, rearranging pebbles into strange constellations beneath the threshing floor. No villager could say which of them altered the old millstone so that it hummed an exact note on certain nights, or which shifted the path of the north wind to carry the scent of juniper deeper into living rooms. They did not fight, exactly; their dance was quieter—an exchange of favors and frustrations, an argument conducted in tremor and breeze.
The turning came not from a human vow but from a small, luminous thing: a child born before the first frost of one harsh autumn. They named her Tatematsu—“one who presents respectfully”—for the tradition required it and because the first thing the child did was point, with a tiny fist and a face like a moon, at the Torii where the mist gathered. From the day she could toddle, Tatematsu behaved as if the valley itself were a story she had yet to finish reading. She spoke to stones, set tiny cups of water beside tree roots, and asked her elders questions that left them blinking. To an old farmer she asked, calmly, whether the fields remembered themselves.
The gods, when gods take notice of children, tilt in strange ways. Kagachisama found her voice like a pocket of clear air and listened. Onagusame found the pressure of her curiosity an axis on which other pressures balanced. They began to show themselves—not fully, but in small boons: rains timed to the planting, a sudden seam of clay that yielded a buried bronze mirror with an inscription, a wind that steered lost travelers toward the right path.
By the time Tatematsu was ten, the world had given a new urgency to older things. A trading lord from across the mountains sought to carve a road through the valley to expedite his timber. His engineers were clever with plumb-lines and commerce; they did not believe in spirits because spirits complicated invoices and plans. They arrived with chains, with maps that called the sacred grove a “development zone,” and with an engine that spat black smoke into the rice paddies like a bad omen.
The village council met and hawked words like stones: some wanted to stay still and plead; others wanted coin for relocation. Tatematsu stood studying their faces until, finally, she walked out to the Torii with an offering of rice and a little bell wrapped in a silk scrap. She hung the bell on the post as if tying a sentence around the shrine.
That night the engineers hammered stakes into earth that had never been staked. The first stake sank easily. Beneath the hammer’s strike, the air remembered the cedar post and whispered at the speed of metal. Kagachisama tasted copper smoke on the rim of the world and swore, a small sound like wind over a glass. Onagusame felt the stake’s shaft rub along the fault and answered with a patient rearrangement: a seam opened, not wide, but the kind that undermines iron over time. The stake tilted and came free with a wrenching sound like an old man waking.
The lord sent more men, more engines. They pointed beams and called for plans to be executed with ledger-book certainty. The valley replied with oddities. The engine’s belts knotted as if by their own hands. Maps became unreadable: lines blurred, the paper frilled as if moistened by invisible breath. The men laughed, called for priests, accused villagers of superstition. Next morning they found their compass spinning and the ground beneath their tents softening into a shallow pit that filled, at noon, with a pool reflecting the sky and the Torii not as it was but as it had been centuries ago—new and bright, children playing beneath it.
War, thought the officials, is not fought with omens. They brought dynamite. It was heavy and precise; the charge would guarantee the road’s curve where public notices had drawn it. They planted the explosives at the base of the ridge where Kagachisama liked to sleep and measured the blast to tear earth from bone. Onagusame felt the thrum and, instead of rattling the valley, she coiled beneath it: a slow, ancestral counter. She lifted, imperceptibly, a ridge here and pressed a trough there. The explosive did not leap in the manner they intended; it stuttered like a child's voice stumbled by a sudden sob and sizzled into something that melted only a loose scatter of stone.
The engineers, humiliated and enraged, decided in the stale logic of men who measure worth in maps to take the child as control. “Remove this child,” the lord said, “and the people will bargain.” They offered coin to families for Tatematsu’s guardianship, then threats, then blackmail—an attempt to relocate not just a person but the moral complaint she embodied. The village did not bargain. They gathered instead around the Torii in a ring that glowed with the heat of shared fear.
It was then, on a day when rain had been promised and did not come, that Kagachisama and Onagusame revealed the shape of their agreement. Not as a parley in words—that belonged to men—but as a remastering of what the valley itself could be. They took the child's offering bell and tuned it. Kagachisama breathed across the metal and learned its note; Onagusame pressed her palm against the post and found the memory bound to the grain. Together, they set the bell to sing a new kind of weather: not thunder but a layered chorus that could reveal what a person truly carried within—guilt, bravery, hunger, love—exposed for a moment like a reflection on a still pond.
They rang the bell at noon. The sound that came sounded like the valley remembering names it had forgotten. The men of the lord heard the ring and felt, in their chests, the precise weight of their intentions. The land around them made visible what their charts had disguised: veins of water, bones of old paths, altars where previous labor had been paid. Some wept—soft, private sobs that loosened the knotted cords of their mouths. Others stiffened, and in doing so revealed something more dangerous: a stubbornness that was not merely professional but a hunger that would not be sated by recompense.
One engineer, a thin, fast-tongued man named Hata, laughed at what he called theatrics. He thrust his hand toward Tatematsu, intending to take her by force, to brand the settlement “compliant” with the lord’s designs. The bell rang again, as if offended, and the air thickened into an invisible web. Hata found his fingers glued to a branch that was still rooted in wood. He could not release them. Panic made his face a map of argument and apology, but the web held. He felt, in that terrible stillness, the full ledger of his life: a father he had not visited, a mother’s voice he had ignored, a child’s drawing he had crumpled in a suitcase. He broke like old pottery.
Other men turned to flee, but not without leaving behind in their pockets small changes that meant they had been changed: a coin given to a beggar from a purse they had kept for themselves, a letter opened and read that would never have been read. The lord watched these displays unfold as if the world had suddenly gained a moral weather system he could not forecast. Fear, always a competent counselor, persuaded him that bargaining might not simply be a means to an end but a way to salvage dignity. He retreated, worse for wear and with more questions than his ledgers could answer.
The victory was not clean. The road, the lord, and laws would return in other guises. Power has many faces and patience for failures vast as the sea. But for a time the valley slept more soundly. Men who had considered the land as a ledger found themselves in need of story.
Tatematsu grew into a presence of quiet authority. Instead of growing proud under reverence, she learned the language of maintenance. She collected stories and painted them on the inner walls of the shrine in soft pigments that faded like old voices. She listened to Kagachisama when the wind asked questions she had not known to ask; she learned the names of the seasons as if they were people. She set small traps for Onagusame: patterns of stones set in circles and jars of light buried under blossoms. Onagusame, in return, left gifts beneath hearthstones—a seam of clay that would burn butter evenly, a root that made children sleep through the long, hungry hours.
Years folded like pages. The world beyond the valley altered—railways crept closer, and the lord’s successors grew more anxious each season—but within the Torii’s shadow, life kept working in its small, vital ways. The valley’s fables matured, made of real deeds and continuing small miracles. People from other towns drifted in—scholars on pilgrimages, poets seeking a phrase, a mother with a need to leave a city’s roar. They found the shrine alive and sometimes encountered the subtle artistry of Kagachisama’s gusts or the patient proof of Onagusame’s touch: a pebble that would not tumble no matter how the stream insisted, a warm patch of earth where a toddler could nap unbothered.
One late spring a stranger arrived carrying a cracked lacquer box containing the remnant of an old instrument: a bell much like the one Tatematsu had placed, but inlaid with mother-of-pearl and cut with characters none could read. He called himself a remaster—a curator of songs—someone who repaired things that had been given to the world before commerce learned to sell memory. He asked politely if he might study the shrine’s bell, claiming that he sought to restore its note to something the wider world could hear. He explained the process with the soft confidence of someone who mends edges the rest of the world discards.
Tatematsu, who had been initiated into the valley's secrets but also schooled in restraint, felt the old instinct that had guarded the shrine: knowledge once shared could not always be called back. Yet she understood the remaster’s desire for preservation. They allowed him to listen, to lay his cheek against the bell and to hear what Kagachisama and Onagusame had given to their child. He wept in a way that was not false—tears that tasted like metal and rain—and promised only to carry the sound into a world that had, perhaps, forgotten how to listen.
In the weeks the remaster remained, he repaired the cracked lacquer with lac and resin, polished the bell until its skin was like moon. He traced the characters with his finger and, when Tatematsu asked him the meaning, shrugged and said, “Meanings change.” He taught a few villagers to strike the bell in a pattern that calibrated its voice to different kinds of truth—for the end of mourning, for the start of sowing, for those who needed to be shown their own hands. The bell came to be called, in a tongue half-laughing and half-respectful, the Remaster Exclusive.
News of the bell’s restorative note left the valley like a seed carried by favoring wind. Pilgrims came bearing instruments—flutes and kotos, paper songbooks, the odd broken gramophone—and they waited their turn with a patience learned from people who had earlier trusted the seasons. The remaster taught them how to listen without annulling the originals: he insisted that any recasting include a pause, a space for the valley’s own weather to speak. He taught a ritual not of possession but of offering, and people left lighter by some small margin. kagachisama+onagusame+tatematsurimasu+remaster+exclusive
Kagachisama remained as he had been: sometimes a tremor in curtains, sometimes the soft exhale of the valley’s breath. Onagusame kept her subterranean commitments, while Tatematsu, now a woman, moved with the certainty of someone who carries an entire village’s quiet defiance in her palms. The remaster, having seen his craft used not to assimilate but to amplify, finally left with the lacquer box mended and a map made of apologies and thanks. He promised—truthfully—to visit again.
Time then played a peculiar trick: it did not make the valley immune to change, but it taught it to accept novelty as another weather pattern to catalog. The road that once sought to cleave the ridge never reached the shrine; instead, it curved around the valley and became a ribbon used by those who wanted to pass without unwinding the old knots. Traders came and left, now more apt to offer fair trade when they saw the bell ring and felt their own motives measured. The lord’s house became a place that sent envoys to Tatematsu to learn about soil stewardship; a strange sort of barter traded gold for knowledge. This was no perfect reconciliation. Power still muttered in its rooms, and industry still looked for new seams. But an arrangement had been set: if one wished to reshape the valley, one must first listen to its bells.
Decades later, when Tatematsu’s hair had the soft silver of the morning mist, a new child wandered into the shrine, clasping a paper boat and eyes wide. He looked at the bell and asked whether it could sing him a future. Tatematsu smiled and put the bell into his small hands. “It sings what you are ready to hear,” she said.
He struck it lightly. The note that rose was layered like a landscape—wind, stone, a remembering of a man who once hammered a stake and then found himself undone. For the child it sounded like possibility; for the old villagers it sounded like a ledger closed but not erased. Kagachisama hovered over the rice fields, a ribboning gust that had learned humility. Onagusame shifted rocks underground so wells would run clean. The remaster’s name, long since folded into the valley’s ledger of visitors, appeared in a stray inscription Tatematsu kept: a brief record that some things mend best when treated as music.
To the outside world, the valley became both less and more: less amenable to extractive plans, more appealing to those who sought harmony. People wrote songs about it—songs that sold no better than the honest harvests. Poets published lines that only a few could understand. Pilgrims left small lacquered boxes at the shrine as gratitude, and sometimes the boxes held seeds that took. Even the engineers, when they grew old and less certain of their maps, came back and stood before the Torii, listening.
Kagachisama and Onagusame never made peace the way people might define it. They retained their natures: one of gust, one of pressure. But they established a choreography of respect around the cedar post, and in that choreography they taught a kind of governance older than any ledger. It was not that they favored the village forever; they favored the balance that allowed the village to be itself. Whenever a new hand tried to wrench that balance, the bell reminded them of the cost.
In the end, the greatest remastering was neither in lacquer nor in bell tone but in the village’s memory: the understanding that an offering was not the same as surrender. The bell—rebuilt, retuned, and sometimes reinterpreted—remained a curious instrument: exclusive only in that it belonged to the valley’s history, inclusive in that its song could show what a person meant. Tatematsu’s story, inked on the shrine’s inner walls and whispered every spring, became a parable for those who thought of progress as a straight line. It taught that some things require listening, others patience, most require the courage to let wind and stone speak their own names.
On a clear evening, when the clouds were the color of paper and the Torii cast two shadows, the remaster returned. He walked slowly, carrying his lacquer box, now polished and dented with travel. He knelt by the bell and, without ceremony, laid his hand atop it. The sound he drew was older than his craft and younger than the valley. He smiled as if he had finally learned the single lesson left to learn: that some repairs are not to restore what was but to harmonize what remains.
And so the valley continued—an arrangement of wind, pressure, human knuckle, and the gentle insistence of ritual. The bell sang. Kagachisama walked the ridges. Onagusame shifted the bedrock, patient as tide. Tatematsu, whose name had once meant “one who presents respectfully,” lived now as someone who taught others how to present not just offerings, but listening. The story, like the wind, was retold in new keys: remastered, exclusive, but always returned to the place where it had been first offered—a shrine by the rice terraces, under the watch of a god who loved the weather and a spirit who loved the ground.
While there is no official news regarding a "remaster" for a title with that exact phrasing, the terms you provided— Kagachisama (Snake God), (Consolation/Comfort), and Tatematsurimasu
(Humbly Offering)—point toward the niche Japanese visual novel/eroge title Snake God's Consolation (蛇神様にお慰め奉ります).
Below is a creative piece written in the style of an "Exclusive Remaster Announcement" for this atmospheric title, focusing on its dark, ritualistic themes. 🐍 [EXCLUSIVE] The Ritual Returns: Snake God’s Consolation Remastered
The shadows of the Kagachi shrine are lengthening once more.
Years after its initial underground release, the haunting cult classic Kagachisama ni Onagusame Tatematsurimasu
is stepping out of the dark. This definitive remaster breathes new life—and new dread—into the tale of sacrifice, divine obsession, and the thin line between mercy and malice. What’s New in the Remastered Edition? Refined Ritual Visuals
: Every hand-drawn background and character sprite has been meticulously upscaled to 4K resolution. The oppressive atmosphere of the rural village and the serpent-god’s inner sanctum has never been more vivid. Enhanced Soundscape
: A fully re-recorded soundtrack featuring traditional Japanese instrumentation (Shakuhachi and Biwa) paired with modern ambient drone to deepen the sense of isolation. The "Humbly Offered" Archive
: An exclusive digital gallery including never-before-seen production sketches, original script drafts, and a new "Director’s Cut" epilogue that explores the consequences of the "Sacrifice" ending. Localized Script
: For the first time, a revised professional translation captures the archaic, formal Japanese used by the deity, ensuring the "Tatematsurimasu" (the humble offering) feels as weighty as the ritual itself.
In a village forgotten by time, the drought will not break until the Snake God is satisfied. You play as the chosen attendant, tasked with the "consolation" of a deity whose whims are as unpredictable as they are ancient. Will your offerings be enough to save the village, or will you be consumed by the god you serve?
"The Snake God is hungry. Will you be the one to offer comfort?" technical details
on how to run the original game on modern systems, or were you hoping for a different style of writing for this piece?
The remastered version of Kagachisama updates the original cult classic with significantly improved technical standards while maintaining its grim, folklore-inspired atmosphere.
Visual Enhancements: The most prominent "exclusive" feature is the move to high-definition (HD). The original's low-resolution assets have been upscaled or redrawn to support 1080p and 4K displays, ensuring the intricate, often unsettling character designs and backgrounds are sharp. Kagachisama : This could be a misspelling or
Widescreen Support: Unlike the original 4:3 aspect ratio, the remaster is optimized for modern 16:9 monitors.
UI/UX Overhaul: The user interface, text boxes, and menus have been modernized for better readability and smoother navigation, often including "Quality of Life" features like expanded save slots and scene skip functions. Exclusive Content & Features
Depending on the specific platform (Steam vs. Japanese console releases), "exclusive" elements typically include:
Uncensored vs. Adjusted Content: The PC/Steam version often serves as the "exclusive" home for the original, uncompromising vision of the story, whereas console remasters may feature exclusive new CGs (Computer Graphics) or rewritten scenarios to comply with rating boards (CERO) while adding fresh story beats for returning fans.
Engine Migration: Moving the game to a modern engine (like Unity or a proprietary Ume-soft update) allows for smoother animations and better compatibility with Windows 10/11.
Digital Extras: Many remastered editions include exclusive digital artbooks or soundtracks accessible through the game's local files or a "Special" menu. The Narrative Hook
The story remains the core draw: you follow a protagonist who returns to a secluded, tradition-bound village. He becomes entangled in a dark ritual involving the "Kagachi" (Snake God). The remaster emphasizes the atmospheric horror and the branching paths that lead to multiple "Bad Ends" or the elusive "True End." Technical Breakdown Original Version HD Remaster Resolution 800x600 (approx) 1920x1080+ Aspect Ratio Voice Acting Partial/Standard Fully compatible with modern audio drivers Compatibility Legacy Windows Windows 10/11 & Steam Deck
The phrase " Kagachisama Onagusame Tatematsurimasu " (蛇神様お慰め奉ります) refers to a classic Japanese adult visual novel originally developed by Cyc. The Remaster Exclusive
version provides a modern technical and visual overhaul of the original title. Content Overview
This title belongs to the dark fantasy and eroge genres, centering on folk horror themes and ritualistic traditions.
Story & Theme: The narrative typically revolves around a rural village's secretive and dark traditions involving a "Serpent God" (Kagachisama). The protagonist often finds themselves entangled in rituals meant to appease or "comfort" (Onagusame) this deity.
The Remaster: According to details found on Amazon Japan and niche databases like VNDB, the remaster features high-definition graphics, updated character sprites, and compatibility with modern Windows operating systems.
Exclusive Content: The "Exclusive" or "Best" editions often include:
Enhanced Resolution: Support for 16:9 widescreen displays and 1080p assets.
System Improvements: Modern UI elements, faster skip functions, and high-quality audio sampling.
Bonus Materials: Digital artbooks or soundtrack collections bundled with the release. Key Terminology Breakdown
Kagachisama (蛇神様): A respectful way to address a serpent deity. In Japanese folklore, snakes are often seen as messengers of Benzaiten or symbols of financial prosperity.
Onagusame (お慰め): Comfort or consolation; in the context of this genre, it refers to ritualistic acts performed for the deity.
Tatematsurimasu (奉ります): A humble verb meaning "to offer" or "to present," used in a religious or highly formal context. Where to Find It
Since this is an adult-oriented title, it is primarily distributed through specialized Japanese storefronts: Digital Platforms: Often available on DLsite or DMM/FANZA.
Physical Versions: Can be sourced through retailers like Surugaya or AmiAmi for older physical editions.
Originally released for PC, the story is a "Netorare Mura" (Cuckold Village) tale set in a remote village where ancient, erotic traditions are practiced to appease a local deity, Kagachi. It features themes typical of the developer, such as:
Netorare (NTR): The primary focus involves the "stealing" or "cuckolding" of female characters within a ritualistic village setting.
Supernatural Elements: Rituals centered around the deity Kagachi-sama. Onagusame : This term doesn't directly correspond to
Short Length: Like many Orcsoft titles, it is a relatively short visual novel designed around specific fetishes. Media & Remasters
The Animation: An anime adaptation was produced, often cited in "cultured" or adult-oriented anime lists.
Remaster & Exclusives: While "remaster" and "exclusive" are often associated with modern game re-releases, in this context, they typically refer to high-definition (HD) updates or digital "Exclusive Editions" found on platforms like DLsite or FANZA. These versions often include updated assets or compatibility for modern Windows versions. Summary of Context
The work is a niche title within the adult visual novel industry. The phrase "Onagusame Tatematsurimasu" (to offer/proffer solace) serves as the ritualistic framing for the game's adult content, where female villagers are offered to the "God" or other men as part of a traditional sacrifice or solace-giving rite. -Cultured-'s Profile - MyAnimeList.net
Kagachisama: This could be a misspelling or variation of "Kagami-chisama," which might refer to a character or a work titled similarly. Without more context, it's hard to provide a precise answer.
Onagusame: This term doesn't directly correspond to well-known Japanese media. It could be a character name, a title, or a term from a specific work.
Tatematsurimasu: This seems to be a verb form in Japanese, "tatematsuru" meaning to offer or present something. When converted to a polite form, it becomes "tatematsurimasu," which could translate to "I offer" or "I present."
Remaster: This term refers to the process of improving the quality of audio or video, typically from an older source, to make it suitable for modern distribution. A remastered version of a film, TV show, or album would have enhanced sound and/or picture.
Exclusive: This term refers to content that is only available in a particular context, platform, or region, often highlighting its uniqueness or rarity.
Based on the combination of these terms, you might be looking for a feature or announcement related to an exclusive remastered version of a work that involves characters or titles similar to "Kagachisama," "Onagusame," with content presented or offered ("tatematsurimasu") exclusively.
Without more specific information about the context or the actual titles you're referring to, it's challenging to provide a detailed feature. However, here's a hypothetical example of what such a feature announcement might look like:
"Exclusive Remastered Feature: Kagachisama & Onagusame Special Edition"
We're excited to present (tatematsurimasu) to you an exclusive remastered feature that brings together two beloved characters in a completely new light. The "Kagachisama & Onagusame Special Edition" offers a remastered and enhanced viewing experience, bringing out the vibrant colors and detailed animations that fans have come to love.
This special edition includes:
This exclusive feature is a must-have for fans of the series, offering a fresh and comprehensive viewing experience that you won't want to miss.
The term “exclusive” in this context is especially revealing. An exclusive remaster of a joke meme cannot be bought; it exists only as a conceptual object, shared through screenshots, jokes, and let’s-play videos. It becomes what anthropologists call a “restricted code” – meaning accessible only to those who already know the joke. This exclusivity is not corporate but social; it strengthens community bonds.
Moreover, “remastering” implies that the original was worth revisiting. Fans who spend time creating fake remaster announcements for dead memes are engaging in affirmative nostalgia – not cynical repetition but a loving reconstruction of a shared past. The hyper-formal language acts as a protective ironic shield, allowing genuine affection without sentimentality.
Enter 2024. Out of absolute silence, a tweet from a dead account: "The solace is ready. Forgive the silence."
The announcement of the "Kagachisama Onagusame Tatematsurimasu Remaster" broke several niche forums. But this was not a simple volume boost. According to the technical liner notes (released exclusively to a private Discord server), the remastering process involved:
The result is staggering. The remaster transforms the muddy, ethereal whisper of the original into a crystalline, dynamic range masterpiece. The low-end—once a rumble of static—now reveals a sub-bass taiko drum that literally shakes the room. The vocals, previously thought to be a generic Vocaloid, are now clear enough to hear the breathy vibrato of a human singer (some speculate a retired enka singer).
Stream it. But do it with headphones. At night. Alone.
Don't bop your head. Let the chaos wash over you. When you reach the “exclusive” bridge and hear what sounds like a choir being sampled backward over a wadaiko loop, you'll understand why 300 anonymous Nico Nico users bookmarked this as “legendary” back in 2010.
Rating: ★★★★☆ (4/5) – Loses one star for giving me a mild headache. Gains infinite stars for originality.
Where to find it: Search for “Kagachisama Onagusame Tatematsurimasu Remaster Exclusive” on Bandcamp or OTOTOY. It is not on major mainstream DSPs as of this writing.
Have you heard this track? Do you remember the original 2009 upload? Let me know in the comments—and if anyone has the .vsq file, please, for the love of Kagachi-sama, share it.
Tags: #Vocaloid #Kagachisama #RemasterExclusive #KaihatsuType #Denpa #LostMedia
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