An obscure WeChat public account decided to use the spectacular failure of Girls' Frontline 2: Exilium (少前2：追放) as ammunition to write a lengthy hit piece against "ML" (Master Love) players — a community of gacha gamers who expect their waifu characters to remain romantically devoted to the player character. Someone shared the article on NGA, China's biggest gaming forum, with a simple comment: "Pretty hilarious, let's see what the bros think."
The moment the link dropped, the comment section erupted over one detail: the WeChat account's IP location shows Shanghai — the same city where Sunborn Network (散爆网络), the studio behind GFL2, is headquartered. "Shanghai IP, lmao, checks out!" one user quipped. Another piled on: "Which backwater account is this? Oh wait, Shanghai IP — never mind then." The implication was crystal clear: this looks less like independent journalism and more like a paid PR piece dressed up as a hot take.
But the real savagery came from users who dissected the article's core weakness. "Classic move — too scared to talk about any of Exilium's other disasters? Only brave enough to hammer the Raymond drama?" one commenter noted. GFL2's collapse wasn't just about the controversial NPC romance subplot; the game faceplanted on gameplay, monetization, and live ops across the board. Cherry-picking one topic while ignoring the dumpster fire as a whole? NGA users weren't having it.
One user delivered perhaps the most devastating observation about the absurd position ML players find themselves in: "ML players get called 'reactionaries' on Bilibili and 'tankies' on Zhihu at the same time — what kind of quantum superposition is this?" This perfectly captured the surreal reality of how the same group gets slapped with diametrically opposite labels depending on which platform you're on, serving as the community's universal scapegoat.
The most detailed takedown came from a user who listed concrete evidence of how Sunborn betrayed its own fanbase: characters that players had formally "oath-bound" (the game's marriage system) in GFL1 were brought into the sequel only to be shipped with random NPC love interests. A character who had promised in Neural Cloud (云图) that "she'd never play piano again without the Commander" — a beloved emotional beat — was shown in GFL2 not just playing piano for her new NPC partner, but writing a love song for them too. The commenter thundered: "Sunborn struck first. Now that they've enraged the playerbase, they blame fans for being 'extreme'? A company that shows zero respect for its players deserves every bit of backlash."
Many others chose dry, sarcastic indifference as their weapon of choice. "Let them write whatever, the market will speak" — "My wallet stays in my pocket" — "He said what he said, guess we just have to accept it" — these seemingly laid-back responses actually radiated the quiet confidence of people who know the revenue charts already did the arguing for them.
Some smelled something deeper at play. "Isn't this article written for investors or management to read? No actual gamer reads WeChat accounts like this. Looks like someone's panicking." Another user cut even sharper: "So this is the kind of 'resources' Yuzhong (the GFL producer) can still muster?" — suggesting the very existence of these PR articles reveals how desperate things have gotten behind the scenes.
All in all, this WeChat hit piece spectacularly backfired. Rather than swaying public opinion, the NGA comment section turned it into a live dissection — from the suspicious Shanghai IP, to the telltale typos revealing sloppy craftsmanship, to the selective argumentation getting dismantled point by point. Textbook case of shooting yourself in the foot. As for who's right between ML players and the devs? As the top-voted reply put it best: let the market decide. The wallet belongs to whoever earns the player's trust.
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