Chapter 11 - Impeccable Skill

Oushima Aya was a monster.

The specification document ended up covering a wide range of topics and the total number of issues marked for improvement rose to 70.

Seventy. Despite being the ones who’d made it, Kai and Nanaka were in despair.

There were exactly 30 days left until the routine competition. Basic math told them that, in order to complete all 70 improvements, they would need to complete a minimum of two per day, and for ten of those days, they’d need three per day. This was assuming that they focused solely on development, which was a ridiculous notion. If you could say, “There, it’s finished,” and be done with it, no developer would ever cry over bugs again.

To see your work reflected in the game, you would first need to debug the code. Of course, that meant you needed to check every single improvement that was made. If they were to implement 70 changes, Kai would want at least two weeks—and even that would have been cutting it short—set aside for debugging. So if they spent, say, 15 days debugging, that would only leave another 15 days to finish the programming. Furthermore, any bugs they found would require even more time to fix, and they’d need to double-check them again, and—all this essentially came back to the fact that they had no time.

This was impossible.

“Give it your best shot.” Those words were fundamentally correct, but sometimes a thing’s technical correctness could be the very reason it was also a mistake. This was one of those times. Kai was sure that Aya would see the reality of the situation and agree to find a compromise they could both be satisfied with... That was what he believed.

“I seeeeeeee...” Aya said, looking through the completed document. Then she said, “And? When do you want this done by?”

“When do I—”If I said today, would she finish it today? Kai managed to stop himself from asking such an aggressive question. Instead, he took a deep breath and collected himself before explaining their deadline to Aya. The fact that they only had 30 days, that they really had less than that because they needed to debug, and how that meant they should—

“That’s super easy!” Aya scoffed. “Man, it woulda been pretty tight if you said today, but I can finish this much if you gimme three days. Oh, for the UI elements that we don’t have yet, I’ll just make a mockup and we can adjust it whenever Nana-sen finishes her end, cool?”

“Th-Three days?” asked Kai, in shock.

That was ridiculous.

Kai absolutely could not believe her and told her as much.

To which Aya replied, “If you gimme one day, then I’ll put your mind at ease.”

So he decided to let her have her way for a single day. The result was that nearly half of the improvements they’d compiled had been completed by the following day, and that Kai had nothing more to say. He felt as if he’d met a UFO, or a monster, or a yokai... something he wasn’t meant to understand. All he could do was space out with his mouth agape. He couldn’t believe it.

“...Shiraseki-kun? Is Ah-chan... actually incredible?” Nanaka asked timidly.

“If I had to choose between ‘incredible’ and ‘not incredible’...” Kai trailed off before finishing, “she would definitely be incredible.”

...What the hell, he thought next. What the hell is this person?

“I... I see...” Nanaka said uncertainly. “So then, the fact that she coded MiSt in one month... is that incredible, too?”

“O-One month?!” Kai spluttered.

MiSt was legitimately a very well-made social game, akin to a dish made with high quality ingredients that fell short on the seasoning and presentation. The graphics and systems that made up the core of the game were well put together. They took Eru’s amazing character designs and based the entire game around the core concept of “show off cute girls.” You were meant to explore the world in a fantasy RPG and mix and match the costumes you got from your adventures to dress up your characters as they danced on stage like an idol group. Two separate ideas were connected by this concept of showing off cute girls.

While it was simple to explain in words, it meant there were basically two games that had to be made in tandem. It was one of the charms social game clubs had over industry professionals that this sort of wacky (and probably unprofitable) concept would be considered, but they usually failed before ever taking form. The project would collapse and disintegrate before coalescing, without ever seeing a proper release. That would have been completely normal.

Forget failure, though. Aya had made it in a month?

“...Who are you?” Kai demanded. He got to hear the answer directly from Aya after she finished implementing all 70 changes.

“Mm... I know Nana-sen prob doesn’t know,” Aya said carelessly. “But senpai, you’ve heard of Alchemia, right?”

“Well, of course,” he replied.

The open source game development engine, Alchemia. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that social game clubs were only here because of its release. In extreme cases, even someone with almost zero programming knowledge could create a simple game using Alchemia. It lowered the initial difficulty barrier of game development all on its own.

“And you know how the developer’s name is a pseudonym, right?” Aya continued.

“Yes...?” Kai said.

The developer called themselves ‘Gacchaman’ and no one knew their true identity. There were rumors that they were probably Japanese, or at least they were a fan of Japanese superheroes. But in the end, they were such a mystery that there were only rumors based around speculation on their name.

“That’s me,” Aya said nonchalantly.

“...?” It wasn’t as if Kai didn’t understand what she said, but rather that he couldn’t accept it.

“Like I said, the person who made Alchemia? That’s me,” Aya said again. “Making a game is a whole ’nother beast from making an engine... but that explains why I’m pretty good at programming, see?”

“No, what, but there’s no—” Kai stopped talking, but finished his thought with, There’s no way that’s possible.

“The name of the developer is Gacchaman, right?” Aya pointed out.

“Th-That’s right,” Kai agreed.

“It’s ‘Gacchaman’ because I love gacha,” Aya explained. “...Oh, this is a secret that almost no one on the planet knows about, so keep it on the hush, okay?”

Kai couldn’t sense a hint of falsehood in Aya’s nonchalant demeanor as she spoke. “...Is that... true?” he choked out. On the other hand, it didn’t seem to have clicked for Nanaka, and Kai couldn’t help but feel jealous of her. This was far beyond his emotional capacity for surprises.

“Why is someone like that... here?” he asked next.

“Mmm, long story short... I hate things that are a pain in the butt,” Aya told him wearily. “It’s not like I had grand ambitions when I made Alchemia. I just thought, if more people can make social games, then I’d get to roll the gacha in more social games. That’s why I made it.”

“H-Huh?”

“But then, I started getting a huge mountain of requests for development work,” Aya continued. “I let a few of my friends know it was me, but I shouldn’t have; boy, what a screw-up. At first, I was kinda cool with it since I got more gacha money, but the boring work just kept piling up and I got sick of it. So, I tossed it all out and here I am!”

“I... see?” Kai ventured. He didn’t quite know what it was that he was seeing, but it was all he could think to say.

“Ah, the part time job I’m working now is outsourced stuff from pro game dev teams,” Aya said. “Looks like you wouldn’t have been able to work in my place after all! Senpai, you can’t code, can you?”

“N-No, I can’t...” he admitted.

Aya seemed to be having fun as she said, “I figured,” and began cackling.

Kai’s head was spinning with all the nonsensical information he’d acquired, which was banging around inside his skull. He’d found out that all the companies Aya was working with were big name brands, too. At this point, she was less of a genuine high schooler and more of an impeccably skilled freelance programmer who just so happened to feel like experiencing high school life.

“I wouldn’t want you to think I’m just another gacha junkie! I can handle server management, front-end stuff, you name it! Lay it on, you can leave it to me!” Aya said as she smugly thrust out a victory sign.

Kai and Nanaka were overwhelmed as they looked at each other and began clapping.

“Plus, if MiSt starts bringing in the big bucks, it’s all-you-can-roll gacha!” Aya crowed.

“No,” Kai protested. “That should go back to development fees...” He felt like he was going to trip over her junkie-as-usual quip, but nevertheless he couldn’t help but smile. The same we’re going to be fine sensation he had when he saw Nanaka’s passion resurrected within him.

For the Meikun High Social Game Club on the brink of disbandment, surely there was no one else more dependable than her.