==Error. Line 472. NullPointerException.==
Giri slammed his hand on the desk, his gaze locked on the screen where the code refused to cooperate. A dull ache throbbed behind his temples after hours of wrestling with this bug for the "Awakened" expansion. The deadline loomed, and each minute that ticked by felt like a countdown to disaster.
He let out a frustrated groan, rubbing his temples. This was just a minor issue, but under pressure, everything felt catastrophic. Five years spent crafting a digital world, and now he was stumped by a single line of code.
Sighing, he leaned back and closed his eyes, the soft hum of his computer a temporary balm against the chaos swirling in his mind. In his mind's eye, Aeonalus sprang to life—majestic Primordials representing the elemental forces, players breathing life into every corner of the world—adventures waiting to be had.
His smile faded as he remembered the latest boardroom buzzwords: "synergistic market integration" and "monetization strategies." He was a programmer, not a marketing expert! All he wanted was to create amazing games.
With a grimace, he stood up and grabbed his smartphone, scrolling through his contacts until he found the familiar name: Moriya (Tuna).
"Yo, Tuna," Giri said when the call connected.
"Hey, Giri! What's up?" Moriya's voice crackled on the line, warmth washing over Giri.
"Just running into a brick wall with this latest update. I figured I'd vent to someone who understands and maybe calm myself down"
Moriya chuckled. "SolarTech driving you crazy with their buzzwords again?"
"You have no idea!" Giri sighed, "if I hear 'synergistic market integration' one more time, I might start talking in ones and zeroes."
A chuckle escaped Moriya. "Ah, classic. Remember when Shizuka's textures went haywire and all the dragons' heads twisted backward as they moved? Those were good times."
"Yeah, simpler times," Giri said, a tinge of melancholy in his voice. "Now we can't even make a game without worrying about market trends."
"Sounds rough," Moriya said, his voice laced with sympathy. "So, what's the issue with Awakened specifically?"
"VR integration is giving me nightmares," Giri admitted. "And they're using this new AI for the dynamic world system… it's powerful, but it's also opaque. I'm trying to tweak the UI to handle the new data flow, but I keep getting one error after another..."
"Have you forgotten the ritual?" Moriya's voice echoed in his mind. "You need to offer the code with ramen and coffee!"
Giri chuckled at the memory of those late-night coding sessions. Those early days, just the three of them—him, Moriya, and Shizuka—working tirelessly on Aeonalus Primordial in Giri's cramped apartment felt a world away. Moriya, the sound wizard, weaving intricate soundscapes that brought the world to life. Shizuka, the artist, breathing vibrant color into every creature and landscape. They were a perfect team, a trio of creators pouring their hearts into a shared dream. Five years. Five years of his life poured into Aeonalus. "Those were the days," Giri murmured, a tinge of melancholy in his voice. "Before the loot boxes of the soul and corporate overlords."
"Yeah," Moriya agreed, his tone turning slightly somber. "Things were… simpler back then. We had to fix bugs with duct tape and prayers."
The unspoken reason hung heavy in the air.
Moriya took the first step away, having to decide between following his dreams and keeping food on the table. The memory of that morning remained sharp in Giri's mind - their uncomfortable discussion at the cafe, with Moriya repeatedly saying sorry as he explained how the finances just weren't working anymore. It seemed like the initial fracture in their once-solid foundation.
For weeks after, Giri had struggled to fill the void left by Moriya's departure. The soundscapes of Aeonalus suddenly lacked the same vibrancy, as if the heart of the world had dimmed slightly. The financial strain of indie development had simply could not sustain.
Giri found himself caught between two choices. He could abandon the game, accepting that his aspirations might never materialize, or he could allow SolarTech to take over, compromising elements of his vision. He recognized that he wasn't suited to be a Project Manager or Producer; he thrived in a hands-on role with development. Yet, as a "consultant" for the Game Design Team, he discovered that every decision, no matter how trivial, needed to navigate through multiple layers of corporate approval, which left him feeling exasperated and powerless.
Then after SolarTech took over Aeonalus Primordial, Shizuka had chosen to depart as well. This was a significant factor in her decision. She sensed that her creative expression was being suppressed. Giri understood that it wasn't merely about the finances for her. She was frustrated by how SolarTech aimed to "optimize" everything, transforming what had once been his passion project into a commercial enterprise.
He recalled proposing a 'dynamic weather system' to enhance Aeonalus's realism-but management had dismissed it, claiming it "wouldn't address their 'pain points' or support revenue goals." Such instances left him wondering whether he still had any real ownership of the game's vision.
"Hey," Giri said, a hint of nervous energy underlying his hopeful tone. "With this Awakened expansion… it's a big one. We're really pushing the tech. It'd be… amazing to have you back on board. Even just as a consultant. We could get the old team back together, even if just for a little bit."
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line.
"Thanks, Giri," Moriya said finally, his voice carefully neutral. "I appreciate the offer. But… I'm pretty tied up with things right now. Got a lot on my plate. It's like I'm grinding in a different game now."
"Oh," Giri said, a flicker of disappointment in his voice. "Right. Well, if anything changes…"
"Yeah, sure," Moriya said, a little too quickly. "Tell me more about this VR integration... maybe I can offer some sound design ideas, even if I'm not officially on the team anymore. I still remember the sound of the Primordial's roar."
Giri allowed a small smile to flicker across his face. "That roar was a masterpiece, Moriya. You really outdid yourself with it. If I could replicate the impact it had…" He trailed off, realizing he was falling into nostalgia. "Anyway, I'll send over some of the current build notes. Give them a look when you've got time."
"Will do," Moriya replied. His voice carried a hint of something unspoken, but Giri decided not to press further. "Giri... don't let them stress you out too much, okay? You've done more for the project than anyone else."
Giri felt a flicker of gratitude, but also the weight of those words. "Thanks, Moriya. Take care of yourself out there."
"You too," Moriya replied, and the call ended.
He sat there for a moment, staring at the phone in his hand. Moriya's hesitation gnawed at him. It wasn't like him to hold back, and the entire conversation felt off. Giri's thoughts spiraled as the uneasy atmosphere within SolarTech crept into his mind again: whispers in the hallways, sudden closed-door meetings, and the vague sense that he was being edged out of the Aeonalus Primordial project.
His phone buzzed in his hand, jarring him from his thoughts. A new number flashed across the screen. Hanna.
He answered. "Hey, Sis."
"Giri," his sister's voice came through, a mix of apology and forced cheerfulness. "Hey, how's it going?"
"You know," Giri said. "Working on an big update. Hitting some snags. So I'm just taking a break."
A brief pause. Giri knew what was coming. It was the same conversation they had every month, a ritual of excuses and understanding.
"Listen," Hanna began, her voice softening. "About Mom's visit this month… I'm so sorry, but with Tiny… things have been crazy. I just don't think I can make it."
Giri closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly. He got it—Hanna was a marketing professor, a PhD holder juggling a newborn and a family of her own. She had her hands full; he couldn't hold it against her. And yet… it always came down to him. "It's okay, Sis," he said, his voice carrying a quiet fatigue. "I understand."
"I really am sorry," Hanna insisted. "I'll send you the money for the visit and some extra for a gift. Just… tell her I said hi. And that I'll try my best to come next month, I promise."
"I will," Giri said. A thought struck him. "Hey, speaking of Tiny… how's she doing? Has she started… you know… call her uncle anything yet?"
Hanna giggled. "Oh, you're so eager, aren't you? Well… she's started babbling a lot more. It's mostly gibberish, but sometimes… sometimes it sounds a little like uncle 'Gi-Gi.'"
Giri's lips curved into a genuine smile for the first time that day. "Gi-Gi? Really?"
"Yeah," Hanna said, her voice warm. "It's adorable. She'll grab at the phone when I'm talking to you. I think she recognizes your voice."
"I'd like to see her in person soon," Giri murmured. "I haven't even held her yet."
"I know," Hanna said, her voice laced with sympathy. "It's been tough. But I promise, Giri, as soon as things settle down a bit, you're coming over. We'll have a proper family get-together."
"I'd like that," Giri said. He paused. "So… Gi-Gi, huh?" He chuckled softly. "I like it."
"Me too," Hanna said. "She's a little sweetheart. You're going to love her."
"I already do," Giri said.
"Thanks, Giri," Hanna said, her voice filled with relief. "You're the best. I'll talk to you soon."
"Yeah, you too," Giri said, ending the call. He stared at his phone, smiling faintly. The thought of his niece calling him "Gi-Gi" warmed him, briefly lifting the weight of his day. But reality crept back—deadlines, unfinished code, and relentless work demands.
He settled into his chair, savoring the warmth of Hanna's call for a moment. Then, sighing, he turned to his monitor, where lines of code waited like an unsolved puzzle.
Hours melted together in a haze of coffee and determination. The keyboard's rhythmic clicks filled the silent room as night waned.
---
Golden sunlight striped his cluttered desk. Giri's head drooped, his breath shallow with fatigue. He mumbled, "Just... five more minutes," before collapsing onto the keyboard. The impact scattered cookies and triggered system alerts. His coffee mug tipped, spilling across the desk. The liquid missed his keyboard but drenched his sleeve.
His phone's ring jerked him awake. Dazed, with keyboard marks on his cheek, he surveyed the mess—coffee puddle, crumbs, and precarious notes. He wiped his sticky hand on his shirt before grabbing the phone to answer the team's group chat.
He answered, his voice still thick with sleep. "Hello?"
"Giri! You there?" It was Kenji, one of the junior programmers. Normally calm and methodical, Kenji sounded uncharacteristically excited and a little worried.
"Mmm… yeah," Giri mumbled, rubbing his eyes and wiping cookie dust on his already stained shirt. "What's up?"
"Big news!" Kenji said. "There's a meeting this morning. Someone from SolarTech's tech team is coming to show off their new gen VR headgear. The one they're going to use for Awakened."
Giri sat up straight, instantly awake, ignoring his wet sleeve. Seriously? Today? A wave of worry hit him. This was big. Awakened was his project, five years of relentless effort distilled into a single vision. It wasn't just a game; it was his magnum opus—a world where every element bore his creative fingerprint. Every system, every storyline, every fragment of code bore his personal touch. Now SolarTech was going to use their new tech on it. I just hope they don't mess it up.
"Yeah, they just called. They want everyone there. It's a big deal. They said someone important will be there too."
"Important, huh?" Giri glanced from the coffee spill to his screen. He sighed, scattering cookie crumbs as he ran a hand through his hair. "I'll be there soon. Need to clean up first."
A moment later, Giri secured his satchel over his shoulder and exited his apartment. He saw no need to alter his attire; after all, anime characters seldom change their wardrobe, an unwritten rule of the medium. Giri sometimes quipped to himself, "Gotta maintain the consistent character design."
---
The elevator ride up to the eighth floor—the "Game Evolution" floor, as SolarTech's marketing department had dubbed it—was quick.
Calling it an "office" was an understatement. It was a sprawling studio, buzzing with activity. Programmers, QA testers, game designers, artists... all crammed into one massive open space. The air carried the faint hum of servers, punctuated by laughter and the occasional victorious cheer as someone fixed a bug or solved a tricky design challenge.
As the elevator doors slid open, Giri caught his reflection in the polished metal. He was in his early thirties, with short, black hair pulled back into a small ponytail. His square jaw gave him a surprisingly stern look, even with the ponytail, which somewhat softened his appearance. He adjusted his glasses and noticed the barely visible scruff on his chin. He hadn't had time to shave this morning.
Yep, same old him. Same blue jacket, trusty satchel, and long brown pants. Consistent character design at its finest—a joke he often made but secretly took comfort in.
Giri swiped into the bustling "Game Evolution" studio. The floor hummed with keyboard clicks and quiet conversations punctuated by excited outbursts. The studio's energy was contagious, unlike his tidy apartment with its lone signs of chaos: an overflowing pen mug and coffee rings.
He made his way to his desk, which was… well, let's just say it was a reflection of his personality. Under his multiple monitors, a small army of anime figures stood guard, ranging from elegant maid to stern shrine maiden. His PC tower was practically draped in tapestries featuring various Vtubers, their vibrant colors clashing cheerfully with the otherwise sterile office environment. Even his thermos, bore his favorite retro RPG series. He knew it clashed with the corporate vibe, but he didn't care. This was his domain, a space where his passions and work collided in perfect harmony.
Kenji waved at Giri as he approached his desk. "Hey, did you check the logs from last night?" His voice carried its usual energy, but Giri noticed a slight edge—probably from too much caffeine or too little sleep.
Giri dropped his satchel on the desk and sighed. "Not yet. Let me guess: they're a mess?"
Kenji grinned sheepishly, spinning his chair to face the monitors. "Let's just say the server decided to pull an all-nighter too. Crashed around 2 AM. Logs are a goldmine of chaos."
Hane looked up from her screen, adjusting her glasses. She was quiet as always, but her subtle frown spoke volumes. "I flagged the major errors," she said, her voice calm but precise. "It's mostly memory allocation issues. Nothing we haven't seen before, but still... tedious."
Giri nodded, appreciating her diligence. "Thanks, Hane. I'll tackle it after the meeting."
Hane hesitated, her fingers hovering over her keyboard. "Do you think they're going to push us into using that new hardware already?" Her tone was even, but Giri caught the faintest trace of worry.
Kenji leaned back, crossing his arms. "Of course they are. You saw the suits, right? They're not here to 'brainstorm.' They're here to make sure we're towing the line."
Giri smirked, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Wouldn't be SolarTech if they didn't, right?" He glanced at Hane, whose frown deepened slightly. "Let's not worry about it yet. Focus on what we can control."
A low hum of nervous energy filled the "Game Evolution" floor. People were scrambling, tidying their desks, grabbing last-minute coffees. Some were even openly eating breakfast at their workstations, a testament to the suddenness of the meeting. A young woman from the Office Assistance department, her name tag reading "Aiko," approached their corner, a polite but firm expression on her face.
"Excuse me," she said, her voice clear and professional, "the meeting is about to begin. They're ready for you in the conference room."
Giri's team buzzed with activity, though not everyone could join—the conference room lacked space for a full assembly. It was a compact area with a large table and a whiteboard. As the lead programmer, Giri was definitely going, joined by Kenji, who had called him earlier, and a quiet, bespectacled woman named Hane. Three QA representatives brought their unique energies to the mix, along with two game designers whose contrasting personalities enhanced the creative input, plus one artist team member.
The group filed into the conference room, finding seats around the large table. It was already starting to feel cramped as Yuki, with his eternally calm demeanor, entered, followed by a group of sharp-suited representatives from SolarTech. The contrast was striking: the polished corporate team looked like they belonged in a tech brochure, while Giri's team resembled, well, game developers—more comfortable with monitors than boardrooms.
"Alright, everyone," Yuki began, his smooth voice cutting through the low murmurs. "I'd like to introduce members of SolarTech's Tech Department, here from Kaito to present new advancements." He gestured toward the group.
Giri tuned out most of the introductions, noting only that these weren't the usual SolarTech staff they dealt with. This wasn't typical R&D oversight—it felt bigger.
Mr. Ito, a tall man with neatly combed grey hair, stepped forward. He held up a sleek VR headset, its design almost futuristic. "This," he said, his voice steady and confident, "is the culmination of years of research: our new VR headgear. Lightweight, immersive, and with unparalleled fidelity."
The headgear made its way around the table. Giri took it when it reached him, turning it over in his hands. It was surprisingly light, the matte finish smooth under his fingers. He passed it along, his curiosity piqued.
The projector flickered to life, revealing a chair on the screen. Wires and sensors extended from its sleek design, almost spider-like in its complexity. "This," Mr. Ito continued, "is our prototype Sensory Immersion Pod. Sight, sound, touch—even scent and taste to some degree—are engaged for full immersion."
Giri exchanged a glance with Kenji. "Smell programming?" Kenji mouthed in silence, raising an eyebrow.
Giri shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"This will introduce an insurmountable amount of work," Yuki stepped back in, his expression calm but serious. His gaze swept across the room, making eye contact with each team member. "And will require significant collaboration. That's why we're introducing a new team - the Virtual Asset team - to focus entirely on sensory elements like haptic feedback and scent simulation. We believe this is crucial for achieving true immersion."
Giri couldn't help but think of all the technical challenges this would bring. Haptic feedback was one thing, but scent simulation? That would require entirely new protocols, custom hardware interfaces, and countless hours of testing. He glanced at his notebook, already mentally mapping out the potential architecture they'd need.
"Of course," Yuki continued, adjusting his tie, "we'll need to coordinate closely with hardware development. This isn't just about software anymore."
Giri's team murmured among themselves. The scale of the project was staggering, and the implications were just beginning to sink in.
As the presentation continued, Mr. Ito discussed the development roadmap and answered questions. Technical terms like frame rates, rendering pipelines, and neural haptic feedback filled the room. Despite his initial skepticism, Giri found himself drawn into the possibilities. The technology was impressive—daunting, but undeniably exciting.
Mr. Ito concluded, "The headgear is ready for testing. You can pick up units from the Hardware team on the fifth floor. The Sensory Immersion Pod, however, is still in transit and should arrive within the next day or two."
Yuki nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Ito. And thank you to the rest of the Tech Department for coming all the way from Kaito." He turned to Giri's team. "Alright, everyone, you're dismissed."
As the Tech Department representatives filed out, exchanging final pleasantries with Yuki, he turned his attention to Giri. "Giri," he said, his voice dropping slightly, becoming more confidential. "Could you stay for a moment? There's something I'd like to discuss with you."
Giri nodded, though unease curled in his stomach like a warning. His relationship with Yuki had always been… complicated. On the surface, Yuki was the perfect manager—calm, professional, and endlessly diplomatic. But to Giri, he was also the man who'd quietly dismantled the soul of Aeonalus Primordial, piece by piece. The subtle shelving of ideas, the relentless focus on profitability—it all came back to Yuki. Many of Giri's ideas—small but crucial details that defined the game's identity—had been quietly shelved. "Not aligned with current market trends" or "too niche for our target demographic" had been the usual excuses. It had been a major point of contention and one of the reasons Shizuka had ultimately left.
As the rest of the group exited, Kenji leaned over, his voice low.
"Think they're finally going to greenlight your environmental combat update?"
Giri snorted, shaking his head. "Not unless I can convince Yuki that PvP zones come with built-in loot boxes."
Hane glanced in, adjusting her glasses. "It's not just about loot boxes," she murmured. "They're scared of anything that doesn't scream 'monetizable.'"
"Exactly," Giri said, the edge in his tone sharper than he intended. He sighed. "But I'm trying anyway."
Kenji gave him a sympathetic grin. "Good luck, man. You'll need it."
Yuki waited until the last of the members had left the room, his calm expression unchanging as he turned to close the door behind them. The soft click of the lock sent a ripple of unease through Giri's chest. He'd been in this position before—alone in a room with Yuki, the man whose polite demeanor often masked the corporate machinery grinding behind his words.
"Alright," Yuki began, his voice smooth but deliberate. "I wanted to offer you a… unique opportunity."
Giri nodded slowly, his fingers brushing against the edge of the table. The last 'opportunity' Yuki had presented had resulted in Shizuka leaving the project entirely. He still remembered her frustration, the way her voice had trembled with anger when she'd described how Yuki had dismissed her concepts as "artistically excessive."
"I'm listening," Giri said, keeping his tone neutral.
"I want you to be the first to test the new VR headgear… and the Sensory Immersion Pod."
Giri blinked, momentarily taken aback. "But… I thought you said the pod hadn't arrived yet?"
Yuki chuckled softly. "That was… for general consumption. The pod is here. It's been stored in the Prototype Room."
The Prototype Room. Giri had heard whispers about it—a mythical place on a lower floor where SolarTech kept its most cutting-edge, top-secret technology. It was a place shrouded in secrecy, accessible only to a select few. The elevator didn't even have a button for it.
"The Prototype Room?" Giri asked, his eyebrows raising. "But… that's on B2, right? There's no button for that."
"Precisely," Yuki said, reaching into his pocket and producing a small, metallic keycard. He held it out to Giri. "This will grant you access."
Giri hesitated for a moment, then reached out and took the keycard. The cool metal felt strange in his hand. He glanced at Yuki, who simply smiled.
"Thank you," Giri said, turning the keycard over in his fingers. "I appreciate the opportunity." He paused as a thought struck him. "Actually… I have a few things I need to wrap up this morning, and I also have a prior engagement this afternoon."
He thought of his mother, waiting for his monthly visit, and his father at the elderly home. "Would it be alright if I tried it out tomorrow?"
Yuki's smile didn't falter. "Of course, Giri. Whenever you're ready. The pod will be waiting."
Giri nodded, tucking the keycard safely into his pocket. As he turned to leave, Yuki's voice stopped him.
"One more thing, Giri."
Giri turned back.
"This… this is highly confidential," Yuki said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "This technology is still in the experimental phase. I'm trusting you with this information. Please, don't mention this to anyone. Not even your team. Until we give the official go-ahead, this stays between us."
Giri's eyebrows furrowed slightly. This was getting more and more serious. The secrecy, the hidden room, the explicit warning—it all felt surreal. He nodded slowly. "Understood," he said.
The door clicked shut behind him as he headed back to the Game Evolution floor. Yuki's warning weighed on him. He pictured Kenji's enthusiasm for new tech, Hane's keen interest in VR. Keeping such a big secret from his daily colleagues felt wrong, but he'd promised.
Giri returned to his workstation, the atmosphere had shifted. The nervous energy from before had morphed into a buzzing excitement. The meeting had clearly been the hot topic of conversation, and the news had spread like wildfire. People were huddled in small groups, whispering excitedly, gesturing animatedly.
As Giri approached his corner, he was immediately met with a barrage of questions. "Giri! What was that all about?" Kenji bounced in his seat, his eyes wide with anticipation. "What did Yuki talk to you about?"
Hane, ever the pragmatist, leaned back in her chair, her brow furrowed. "They mentioned a new team too. The Virtual Asset team. What are they going to be doing? Is he going to 'optimize' us too?"
Giri sighed internally. He'd known this was coming. He couldn't exactly avoid his team after being pulled aside by Yuki. He had to come up with something, and fast. He opted for the simplest approach: deflection.
"Just the normal dispute between me and him," Giri said with a casual shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. "You know, the usual 'creative differences' about the direction of Awakened." He hoped they'd buy it.
Kenji, however, was too caught up in the excitement of the new technology to dwell on Giri's vague explanation. "But… VR with smell? And touch? That's insane! I can't believe it's actually happening!" His mind seemed to wander off into a realm of pure possibility.
"Imagine… feeling the wind on your face as you fly on a dragon… smelling the flowers in the elven forests… or…" Kenji paused a bit "Elf forests! Imagine the elf details! The elf lore! The elf… everything!"
Giri raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on his lips. He could only imagine the "possibilities" Kenji's mind had conjured up, likely involving elaborately detailed elf costumes and perhaps some questionable elf romance options. He decided not to press the issue.
"Yeah, it's… interesting," Giri said, keeping his tone carefully neutral. "They're bringing in the Virtual Asset team to handle all the… sensory stuff. So, it shouldn't impact our core programming too much." He hoped that was true.
Hane, however, wasn't so easily distracted. "But why did Yuki pull you aside specifically?" she asked, her gaze sharp. "It seemed… unusual."
Giri forced another shrug. "He just wanted to… reiterate the importance of the project," he said, improvising quickly. "You know how he is. All about maximizing efficiency and meeting deadlines." He hoped his explanation sounded plausible.
The conversation continued, the initial excitement slowly giving way to more practical concerns. Hane, ever the pragmatist, steered the discussion towards the technical aspects of the VR integration. "So," she began, adjusting her glasses, "how will the UI be displayed? Are we talking about a standard HUD, or something more integrated into the environment?"
Kenji, still slightly starry-eyed from his "elf" tangent, chimed in, "And what about coordinates? Are we using the same world map we already have, or will we need to create a separate VR space?"
Giri nodded as he tapped a finger on the surface of the desk. "Both excellent points. We'll have to work out the spatial mapping, determining how movement translates in virtual space. The real challenge though - how can we track when users make contact with things? We need reliable detection for their interactions with interface components and environmental objects."
The discussion quickly delved into the intricacies of collision detection, haptic feedback triggers, and the challenges of translating existing game mechanics into a three-dimensional, sensory-driven environment. Then, the topic shifted to magic.
"And what about the magic?" Kenji asked, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "Air magic could add velocity, letting players fly and actually feel it. I can't wait to try!"
Giri smiled. This was his favorite part. The magic system he'd designed for Aeonalus Primordial wasn't your typical fantasy fare. It was grounded in real-world science, with the world's lore filling in the gaps where science couldn't yet explain things.
"To answer that, we all need to go back to the core of our magic system."
"It all starts with the Spirits," Giri began, leaning against the desk. He sketched a series of interconnected circles on the whiteboard, each marked with a random symbol. "They're not just entities of magic—they're the processors that translate raw mana into physical effects."
Kenji tilted his head. "Processor?"
"Think of it this way," Giri said, tapping the fire symbol with the pen. "To create fire, you're not summoning flames out of nowhere. You're accelerating mana particles to excite the air molecules around you. The result? Combustion."
Kenji's eyes widened. "So magic is… physics?"
"In a way—" Giri replied with a smirk. "It's more like applied physics, routed through mana. The Spirits are like APIs, act as processors, taking your intent and translating it into physical phenomena. Fire accelerates particles. Water condenses moisture from the air. Earth rearranges molecular structures to form solid matter. Each element manipulates the natural properties of the world."
He added a second layer to the diagram, connecting multiple Spirit symbols with lines. "The more complex the spell, the more Spirits you involve. And the more Spirits you involve, the more mana it costs. It's like processing power in programming—the bigger the task, the more resources you burn through."
Hane adjusted her glasses, her gaze sharp. "So, a basic spell like… a push…"
Giri nodded, drawing a single rune linked to the Air Spirit. "It would only requires Air Spirit. But if you wanted to create a localized tornado…" He sketched an intricate pattern connecting Air, Water, and Chaos. "Now you're combining elements and increasing the processing load. If your mana pool isn't sufficient, or the Spirits reject the sequence, the spell fails—or worse, backfires."
Kenji let out a low whistle. "Magic really is like debugging with explosions."
Giri chuckled. "Pretty much. Except here, the consequences are a little more… personal."
"That's the thing about Spirits. They're not just tools; they're semi-sentient. They evaluate every command you give them, and if your logic is flawed, they'll reject it outright. It's like an AI refusing to execute buggy code."
Hane raised an eyebrow. "So… the Spirits and the NPCs AI share the same logic base?"
"Not exactly," Giri replied, smiling faintly. "But they both emphasize one thing: unpredictability. Whether it's a Spirit rejecting a spell or an NPC countering a tactic, it's about creating a world that feels dynamic."
The AI topic steered them from technical details into philosophy. Hane leaned forward pensively. "About the AI - are we going for realistic NPC interactions or sticking to scripted responses?"
"That's the million-dollar question," Giri replied, running a hand through his hair. "SolarTech's AI is incredibly advanced. They're claiming it can generate dynamic dialogue, adapt to player choices, even learn and evolve over time. But… we do need ensure the NPCs feel like actual people, and not just sophisticated chatbots."
"And what about the quest lines?" Kenji chimed in, his initial excitement about magic now tempered with a more serious curiosity. "If every choice the player makes actually has an impact on the world, how do we structure the quests? How do we avoid creating branching narratives that become impossible to manage?"
Giri sighed. These were the challenges that kept him up at night. "We're working closely with the game designers on that," he explained. "The idea is to create a system of interconnected events and consequences. Think of it like a web, rather than a tree. Every action the player takes ripples outwards, affecting other parts of the world in subtle or not-so-subtle ways."
Kenji's eyes glazed over slightly, his mind clearly wandering off again. "Imagine," he murmured, a dreamy look on his face, "an elf NPC… who remembers every conversation you've had with them. Every choice you've made. Every memory… That…would be so cool!" He paused, snapping back to reality. "Sorry," he mumbled, blushing slightly. "Got carried away again."
Giri chuckled. "It's alright, Kenji. It's good to be enthusiastic." Though he secretly shared Kenji's excitement about the possibilities. The potential for truly dynamic storytelling was immense.
Hane, however, remained focused on the practical implications. "But how do we manage the sheer amount of data that would be required to track all those choices and consequences?" she asked. "It sounds like a logistical nightmare."
"That's where the AI comes in," Giri explained. "It's supposed to handle a lot of the heavy lifting, dynamically generating responses and adjusting the world state based on player actions. But it's still a black box, to some extent. We're still trying to understand the full extent of its capabilities."
As much as Giri enjoyed the lively discussion, a glance at the clock reminded him of the mountain of work piling up on his desk. He was already taking half a day off for his family visits, and he needed to make sure everything was in order before he left. He clapped his hands together, a small, decisive gesture. "Alright, everyone," he said, his voice regaining its professional tone. "As fascinating as this is, we've all got deadlines to meet. Let's get back to work."
A collective groan arose from the group, but they started to disperse, returning to their respective workstations. Kenji, however, lingered for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You know," he said, scratching his chin, "What if we merged the magic system with the AI… think of the potential. A minor elf NPC who meets the player, acquires new spells through their interactions… that would be…" He paused, his eyes widening slightly as a more complex idea began to form. "Imagine… not just one elf, but a whole party of them. Each one with their own unique personality and magical abilities. And they… they learn from you. They adapt. They grow stronger alongside the player."
He trailed off, lost in thought for a moment before snapping back to reality, blushing slightly. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Got carried away again."
Giri chuckled, patting Kenji on the shoulder. "Save it for the design doc, Kenji," he said with a smile. "Right now, we need to focus on getting the core game of Aeonalus Primordial working in VR. Then we can worry about the elf mages and their evolving spellbooks… and elf parties."
Kenji nodded, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Right, right. Back to work." He finally turned and headed back to his desk, muttering something about "procedurally generated elf hairstyles."
Giri shook his head with amusement as he watched Kenji go. Turning to his workstation, he noted the prominent mess on his desk. "Time to clean up this up and get to work," he muttered to himself. Grabbing tissues, he wiped the desk, the earlier excitement for the new VR technology now tempered by the reality of his workload. He had much to do and little time to do it.
[Sometimes later]
Giri surveyed his team, a quiet satisfaction settling over him. He had cleared most of his urgent tasks, freeing him for a half-day. Kenji was engrossed in code, muttering about elf AI, while Hane meticulously reviewed data logs, her brow furrowed in concentration. They were a strong team.
Giri believed in empowering his followers; it wasn't about avoiding work but enabling others. He understood that no one could bear the world's weight alone, having witnessed his father's struggles to provide for their family. He learned the toll of unwavering strength and good intentions—one person couldn't take care of everyone. Everyone needed to be strong enough to face their challenges.
This philosophy guided Giri in life and work. He mentored instead of micromanaging, and he guided rather than dictated, wanting his team to grow, develop skills, and become independent. Only a strong team could create something great, just as only a strong family could weather life's storms.
Packing up his things, he ensured he had everything for his visits. Slung his satchel over his shoulder, he glanced at his focused team, faces illuminated by their monitors. He smiled; they would be alright. They were strong.
[The Prison Visiting Area]
The shift in environment was abrupt. From the bustling, creative chaos of the "Game Evolution" floor to the sterile, regimented atmosphere of the prison visiting area, it was like stepping into another world. Here, everything was about discipline and order. Concrete walls, metal detectors, and the constant, watchful eyes of guards created an oppressive sense of control. This was a place where Giri knew he was powerless, a place where his usual problem-solving skills and coding prowess were utterly useless.
The admission lines crawled forward through tedious documentation and verification. Giri waited, just another number in the queue, constantly monitored by guards. It was a sharp contrast from his usual role giving instructions as a programmer.
While he waited, the memory flashed back: flashing lights, cold handcuffs, the word "fraud and appropriation of property". He'd been fresh out of high school. It didn't make sense. His mother? Involved in a crime? Giri knew his mother was innocent, a pawn in some elaborate con orchestrated by a shadowy figure who remained free. They'd tried everything, hired lawyers, even attempted to investigate on their own, but the evidence was circumstantial, the mastermind elusive. Their mother had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, manipulated into a situation she didn't understand.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Giri was led to a visiting booth. It was a small, cramped space with a thick glass partition separating the visitors from the inmates. He picked up the phone, the plastic cold against his ear, and waited. A few moments later, his mother appeared on the other side of the glass wearing an inmate uniform.
Her face lit up with a brilliant smile, and for a moment, all the burdens Giri had been carrying seemed to melt away. The corporate pressures, the technical challenges, the weight of his family responsibilities… they all faded into the background. It was just the two of them, mother and son, separated by a pane of glass but connected by a strong bond.
"Giri, sweetheart!" she said, her voice warm and full of affection.
"It's so good to see you."
"It's good to see you too, Mom," Giri replied, a genuine smile spreading across his face.
They started talking, catching up on each other's lives. They talked about distant relatives, about small, everyday events that filled the spaces between their visits. His mother, while not fully understanding the intricacies of game development, was always eager to hear about Giri's work. She was proud of him, proud of the world he was building, even if she didn't quite grasp the technical details.
"And how's that game coming along, dear?" she asked. "The one with the… dragons?"
"It's going well, Mom," Giri said.* "It's getting a lot bigger than I initially imagined. We're even working on making it… well, you'd have to see it to believe it."* He chuckled, thinking of the VR technology. He couldn't tell her about that, not yet.
"That's good, dear. You always were good with those computers," she said, a faint smile in her own voice. "Just like your father… Remember how he used to bring home sticks of wood and you'd spend hours building things together?"
Nostalgia hit Giri. He could almost smell the sawdust, feel the wood's rough texture. His father, a tireless construction worker with calloused hands, had instilled in him a strong work ethic. After her arrest, his father had become a shadow, spending every penny and moment to clear their mother's name, even selling their house for legal fees. It wasn't enough. Now, his father lived in an elderly home. Giri visited when he could, but his demanding job at SolarTech made it hard. He'd tried to care for his father himself, but it was impossible. The elderly home was better equipped, the staffs were more experienced, or so Giri told himself, despite the persistent guilt.
"Yeah," Giri managed to say, his voice thick. "Those were good times."
Giri looked at his mother through the glass. Her face was etched with worry lines, but her eyes still held that familiar strength. He knew she was putting on a brave face, trying to be strong for him.
"Sis told me the baby started calling me 'Gi-Gi'," - Giri said
His mother eyes sparkling with joy.
"It's the cutest thing. You'll have to come visit them soon."
"I will, Mom," Giri promised. "As soon as I get a chance." He also told her about his father, how he was doing at the elderly home. He tried to keep his tone light, but he could see the worry in his mother's eyes.
Then, she said something that made Giri's heart skip a beat. "Giri," she began, her voice becoming more serious,* "there's… there's been some news. They're talking about possibly reopening my case. There might be a chance for a new investigation."*
Giri's breath caught in his throat. A new investigation? The thought echoed in his mind, bringing with it a flicker of something he hadn't felt in years: hope. A chance for her to come home? He'd been living with the reality of her situation, resigned to it. *"Really?" *he whispered, barely able to believe it.
"It's not guaranteed," his mother cautioned, her expression turning somber. "It'll mean another trial, more legal battles… but there's a possibility that they might have found something new that could prove my innocence."
Giri knew what that entailed. More time, more money, more stress. But he didn't care. As long as there was even the slightest chance, he would fight for it. He would fight for her. "I'll do whatever it takes, Mom," he said, his voice firm and resolute. "Whatever it takes."
"…and next time you come," his mother was saying, a twinkle in her eye, "bring some of that ebi fry from that little restaurant near the station. You know, the one with the really crispy batter and that sweet chili sauce."
*"Of course, Mom," *Giri chuckled. "I'll bring a whole plate. Maybe even two."
They continued chatting, the time slipping away unnoticed. They talked about everything and nothing, filling the small space between them with the warmth of their connection. But as always, the moment came too soon. A guard approached the booth, a subtle but firm reminder that their time was almost up.
It was a feeling Giri knew all too well. It was like being pulled back from a pleasant dream into the harsh reality of the waking world. Suddenly, the sterile environment of the visiting area, the thick glass partition, the watchful eyes of the guards, all came rushing back into focus. The weight of his responsibilities, the stress of work, the worry for his family… it all returned, amplified by the impending goodbye.
"Looks like our time's up," his mother said, her voice laced with a familiar sadness.
"Yeah," Giri replied, his own voice heavy. He always hated this part. He wished, every single time, that he could just… cook a meal for her, like they used to. A big plate of her favorite ebi fry, piled high and steaming. Or that she could cook for him, sharing her favorite recipes, filling the kitchen with familiar scents. He wished he could show her the new things he was working on, take her to visit Hanna and Tiny and maybe even bring his father back, let her hold her granddaughter. Ebi fry was definitely not on the prison menu.
"I'll be back next month, Mom," he promised, his voice firm. "And maybe… maybe sooner." He couldn't help the hopeful tone that crept into his voice. The possibility of her case being reopened, the chance of her coming home… it was a small spark of light in the darkness, and he clung to it tightly.
"I'll be waiting, sweetheart," she said, her smile returning. "And don't forget the ebi fry!"
She stood up, her figure moving away from the glass. But then she paused, turning back to wave. Giri waved back, a lump forming in his throat. She turned again, taking a few more steps before pausing once more, another small wave. Giri's hand remained raised, a silent promise of his return. She turned a third time, her smile lingering for a moment before she finally disappeared from view, leaving Giri alone in the booth.
He lowered the phone, the silence on the other end amplifying the emptiness he felt. But this time, unlike other times, there was a different feeling mixed in with the sadness. It was a feeling of hope. It wasn't a guarantee, he knew that. There would be more battles to fight, more obstacles to overcome. But there was a chance. And that was enough.
Leaving the prison felt like stepping out of a pressure cooker. The weight of the visit, the mix of sadness and hope, lingered heavily on Giri's shoulders. He'd intended to return to the office, to try and channel his energy back into his work, but the emotions were too raw, too close to the surface. He decided to call it a day.
On his way home, he stopped at a small tea shop and bought his favorite: a large matcha milk tea, the sweet, earthy flavor a small comfort. He also picked up some takeout for dinner—a simple but satisfying bowl of ramen. He walked the rest of the way, the city sounds fading into a background hum as his thoughts drifted.
His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. The upcoming VR technology, the complexities of the AI, the potential of the Sensory Immersion Pod… it all swirled together with the news of his mother's case being reopened. The new trial, the legal battles, the uncertain future… it was a lot to process.
That night, after a half-finished bowl of ramen and far too much time staring at the ceiling, Giri picked up his phone. There was only one person he could think to call in a moment like this: Shizuka. It wasn't about convincing her to return—he knew better than to try. This was about clarity. Perspective. Something only she could give.
He scrolled through his contacts and tapped her name. After a few rings, her familiar voice came through. "Giri? Everything okay?"
"Yeah," he replied, though the hesitation in his voice betrayed him. "Sort of. I've just been… thinking."
"That's dangerous," Shizuka teased gently. "What about?"
"Life and video games," he said, as if that explained everything. When she didn't reply immediately, he took a deep breath and added, "Do you ever feel like we were gods?"
There was a pause on the other end, long enough for Giri to picture her raising an eyebrow, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "Gods?" she echoed, amusement dancing in her tone.
"To the people in our game," he clarified. "We built their world. Their rules. Their very existence. We decided who lived, who died, what powers they had. We were… omnipotent."
"I suppose we were," Shizuka mused, her voice softening. "But even gods have limits, don't they? Rules they can't break."
Giri let out a bitter laugh. "That's what I mean. Life feels like a game sometimes—a badly designed one. Arbitrary rules, unfair challenges, no clear objective."
"Maybe the objective isn't what we think it is," she countered. "Maybe it's not about reaching some final level or defeating the last boss. Maybe it's about the experience. Learning from the challenges. Connecting with the other players."
"Other players?"
"Yeah," she said. "Like us. Moriya. Your family. We're all in this together, Giri. Facing our own boss fights and helping each other through them."
Her words struck a chord. He thought of his mother, Hanna, Moriya, and even Shizuka herself. "But what if we fail?" he asked quietly. "What if the boss is too strong?"
Shizuka didn't hesitate. "Then we learn. We try again. We adapt. And if we still can't win…" She paused, her voice turning thoughtful. "Maybe we need to play the game differently."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy—it was contemplative. Giri felt something shift, a weight he hadn't realized he was carrying lifting slightly.
"It's funny," he said eventually, a faint smile in his voice. "We made them struggle. We made them rejoice. We gave them purpose… but with this whole new AI integration, it feels like I'm creating something more than just data. It raises the question—what if they became aware? What if an NPC had the same thoughts I'm having right now and started blaming me for all their struggles?"
Shizuka chuckled softly. "That's a very you way of looking at it."
"I mean it," he pressed, though a grin tugged at his lips. "Imagine one of them deciding to rage-quit their quest because the developer was a jerk."
There was a pause on the line, but it wasn't the silence of amusement or dismissal. It was the kind of pause that carried weight, the kind that meant Shizuka was thinking deeply.
"If they did," she said finally, her voice calm but serious, "then maybe that's on us. Maybe it's a sign that we didn't give them enough agency. Enough freedom to choose their own path."
Giri blinked, surprised by the unexpected direction. "You think it's our fault?"
"Not exactly," Shizuka clarified. "We need to make sure they know they always have a choice and they are not alone." Shizuka replied, her tone firm but gentle. "Even if it's not the one they expect. Even if it's not about 'winning'."
"Sometimes…assembling the right party is already a game in its own right," Shizuka suggested.
"I guess it's impossible to finish the raid solo," Giri replied.
A soft chuckle came from Shizuka. "Exactly. Life's an MMO, Giri. Nobody defeats the tough bosses by themselves. Take breaks when you have to, but don't give up on your only playthrough. Like I said earlier, just try looking at it differently"
*"Well, I just hope I don't have to face one of those NPCs one day!", *Giri replied with a lighter tone. "They might just demand better rewards for their challenges"
Shizuka laughed harder this time. "And here I thought your pixelated chicken dragons were bad. Now you've got philosophical NPCs demanding better loot?"
Giri grinned. "Hey, those pixelated chicken dragons were a technical marvel. Besides, I wasn't the one who designed the chickens to squawk in reverse."
Shizuka gasped in mock offense. "That was one test build, Giri! One! And those reverse squawks had charm."
"Charm?" he echoed, feigning disbelief. "You called them a nightmare."
"A charming nightmare," Shizuka retorted, her voice light with nostalgia. "Besides, it's not like your code was flawless. I distinctly remember a certain bug where all NPCs kept walking into walls during cutscenes."
Giri groaned. "Don't remind me. Kenji still calls that 'the great elf migration.'"
They both dissolved into laughter, the shared memories tugging them back to simpler times. It was a reminder of why they had started Aeonalus Primordial in the first place—to create something that mattered, even if it was flawed.
"Thanks, Shizuka," Giri said finally, his voice warm. "I needed this."
"Anytime," she replied gently. "And Giri?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't be afraid to rewrite the rules, Giri. Perspective is everything. A bug could be a feature. What players want isn't always what they need."
Giri smiled, her words echoing in his mind long after the call ended.
Two worlds awaited him—the one he'd built, and the one he lived in. For the first time in a long while, he felt ready to face them both.
End of Chapter 1