Announcing Greek Row: Fall Semester
Announcing Greek Row: Fall Semester
Sixty feet of asphalt. That's the distance between Brennan Hall and Greek Row — six houses, shoulder to shoulder, white columns and green lawns, close enough that you can hear which one has the better speakers.
You arrive in August with two suitcases and a milk crate of records you will not listen to once all year.
Your roommate is Milo Brandt. He got here four days early. He has the entire course catalog printed and pinned to the wall in a colour-coded grid — blue is walkable, red is a mistake. He has never been on a date, and he tells you this within eleven minutes of meeting you, the way people confess things they've decided to stop hiding.
And you look at him and you think: here is a problem I can solve.
That thought is the story.
The Row
Six women live sixty feet away, and every one of them notices what you're doing before you do:
Priya Raval — Kappa president, pre-law. Notices everything and considers it a personality flaw she's working on, badly. In that house you don't get a plan B, you get a plan.
Camille "Cam" Ortiz — Midfielder. Blunt without cruelty, which is rarer than it sounds. She's been the girl who plays since she was six and never needed a second thing.
Nadia Feng — Art history, third-generation legacy. She draws through lecture and still gets the answers right, and nobody has ever guessed why.
Sloane Whitaker — Her mother was a Kappa. Her grandmother is on the plaque. Ask what she'd be doing if none of it existed and she'll answer fast, so she doesn't have to hear how it sounds out loud.
Reagan Kilroy — Three jobs. Sleeps Tuesdays. Everyone in the house thinks she's the fun one, and she is — it just isn't free.
Yuki Moreau — Exchange student, film studies. She films the crowd instead of the game, because nobody films the crowd. Somewhere in her footage are forty seconds she promised not to shoot.
And Milo Brandt — robotics, catastrophic honesty, a spreadsheet for everything. He is not a lock and you are not a key, and the year is going to spend nine months explaining that to you.
A year in three acts
August — three days. An involvement fair in ninety-four degree heat, a pep rally, and a bar with a broken sign. You meet all six of them.
October — four weekends. Six people. That's not a puzzle; that's arithmetic with a person's name on it. Time is the resource and there is not enough of it.
January — two weekends, and no new doors. Spring doesn't let you start over. You finish what you started in August or you don't.
What kind of game this is
A visual novel about the difference between helping someone and handling them.
Six routes, but nobody here is a prize. Every one of them has something going on that has nothing to do with you, and the game rewards noticing it. Some of the most consequential choices are silences. One of the best outcomes is reaching May with nobody — and it is fully written, not a failure state.
There is no route where you get everything. There was never going to be.
The details: three acts, 5,000+ lines, six routes and seven endings — plus an arc for Milo that resolves independently of whether you pursue anyone at all. Affection, trust, and one quiet arrogance counter track across all three acts. Which doors exist in spring depends on what you did in August. Cinematic direction, rollback, CG gallery, and an original score with character leitmotifs that return transformed.
When
Greek Row: Fall Semester launches October 28 on Steam — $9.99, with 15% off for the first 7 days. Wishlist it now and you'll hear from us the moment it's live:
— Michael Huxley
Content note: Greek Row: Fall Semester deals in mature themes — alcohol, class and money, sports injury, family pressure, and the ordinary cruelty of nineteen-year-olds who mean well. It is intended for adult players.
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