Chapter 19 - To Touch a Dream

This was the first time Kai would be taking a bullet train to Tokyo. After setting off from Niigata, he would arrive in about two hours. He had reserved an afternoon ticket to make it just in time for the meeting at Tsukigase. Apparently no one had reserved the seat beside him, since the train gently set off without anybody sitting there.

He was accompanied by businessmen, who were seated sparsely around him. The three girls, however, were not there; Nanaka said she would go with him, but Kai had refused her offer. It was a regular weekday, so they had class, and the bullet train fare wasn’t exactly cheap.

More than anything, this was Kai’s problem: if he’d said, “I don’t want to tangle you up in this any more than I have,” Nanaka would probably have been upset with him. But regardless, he knew that he needed to put an end to this on his own. He couldn’t let himself suffer and be depressed to the point of physically freezing up every single time he was reminded of what happened... The time for groveling was over.

The train gracefully slipped into a tunnel, as though it was submerging into water. The view outside the window morphed into a pitch black wall, letting Kai get a look at his own nervous face in the reflection of the glass. He pulled out his smartphone to distract himself, but didn’t have any signal. Instead, he pulled his laptop out from his bag.

He opened the PowerPoint file containing all the material he would go over today. With the help of his three clubmates, Kai had managed to form a proposal on Rondo’s revival plan. In a few hours, he would be in that conference room at Tsukigase, presenting these documents to everyone in attendance.

Kai looked away from the monitor and closed his eyes for a moment. He could feel the beating in his chest growing faster and heavier. As if he were a third-person observer, he noted internally that, despite his anxiety, he hadn’t been tormented by guilt to the point of nausea since opening up to Nanaka and the others. Therefore, this was merely nervousness, which meant there was no reason to run.

Once more, once more, once more... As Kai ran through his presentation again and again, the time went by in the blink of an eye, and he arrived in Tokyo. I had forgotten the bustle of the city’s crowds, he reflected while pushing his way through the platform. Switching trains to the Yamanote Line, he made his way to the station closest to Tsukigase. One stop after another went by as he pressed closer and closer to his former school. By the time he got off at his final stop, Kai felt like he had teleported.

It was late enough now to head to Tsukigase High School without any issue. Mentally preparing himself, Kai paused for a moment before walking through the ticket gate. And, after weaving through a wave of people, he set his sights toward the exit.

“—Shiraseki.” Before Kai could take a single step forward, a voice called out to him. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Akane had her arms crossed and her calm, regal gaze was fixated straight onto Kai. “—Surprise, unnecessary,” she lectured him. “Do not let it show on your face so, Shiraseki.”

“Oh, uh, sorry...” he replied awkwardly.

“Apologies are similarly unnecessary. Is my picking you up here so out of the ordinary?” Akane inquired. “Previously, you came to escort me: this is me returning the favor. This marks my second time today taking on the role of a guide. It is a nice change of pace.” Her soft expression suddenly tightened and she sharply asked, “Final confirmation... Are you prepared?”

“Yes,” he said.

Akane smiled slightly at his reply. “Then let us go.”

◇

Akane’s hair swayed with all the luster of a raven’s dewy wing as Kai followed behind her. The path to school hadn’t changed since the time he’d left. Tsukigase was less than a five-minute walk away from the closest station, and they arrived at the school gate without saying a word.

There was no nostalgia—no anything—here. This went without saying, but what stood before him was a regular high school, and the immense pressure he’d experienced in his nightmares was not present.

Kai took a deep breath as he entered the premises. From both the school building and the fields behind it, he could hear the sound of clubs echoing throughout the school after-hours like a ripple in a pond.

On their way to the front entrance, they crossed paths with several students who were headed home. Kai’s foreign uniform drew a decent number of glances. Akane was about to prepare a set of guest slippers for Kai when he said, “Oh, that’s alright,” and pulled out a pair of indoor shoes that he had kept in his bag.

“—Thoroughly prepared,” she said with admiration. “As expected of you.”

“You taught me that familiar dress is another means of retaining composure, after all,” Kai pointed out.

“...Indeed. I did, didn’t I?”

Quiet footsteps arose from the glossy linoleum flooring on their way to the social game club’s conference room. Akane stopped in front of the door. From inside, Kai could hear the murmuring of the club members who had already gathered there. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he checked the time: it was 5:57 pm. In three minutes the curtains would rise, and Akane no longer spoke to him. Instead, she shot him a glance, which he responded to in kind.

Click. The instant the door opened, the chatter between club members that filled the conference room died down into silence... and the instant Kai entered, an intense clamoring snapped back into the air.

“—Noise, unnecessary,” Akane said briskly. “It is time. Let us begin our weekly meeting.”

The team directors were seated around the round table, just as always. Naturally, that included Ginjou, who didn’t hold back as he glared at Kai with confusion and contempt.

Though Akane’s command had silenced their voices, the shaken members of the club continued to focus their eyes on Kai as she began to speak. “Today’s discussion is, as previously mentioned, on the topic of Team 10’s Girls’ Symphonic Rondo and its direction going forward... Ginjou.”

“Y-Yes?” Perhaps he was surprised with how suddenly she turned to him. Perhaps he was only pretending as much. Nevertheless, Ginjou’s voice had a rare uncertainty to it.

“To begin,” Akane asked, “do you have anything you would like to say?”

“...Nothing. I have... nothing to say. President Kurenai, I expect you to detail the termina... No, the future direction of Rondo today.” Ginjou’s voice was faintly hoarse as he concluded, “I have come fully prepared.”

From Akane’s seat, Kai had a good view of all the members of the club. It felt exactly like standing at the teacher’s podium, as everyone was in his line of sight. He could clearly see the effect Ginjou’s words had on the rest of the club members.

When Ginjou misspoke, there was a distinct group of people who’d reacted to his slip-up. Looking at the people who were affected, it was easy to guess why, because these were the unfortunate members of Team 10. Some had downcast eyes, while others painfully averted their entire gaze.

It seemed that all of Team 10 came as prepared as Ginjou was. There was only ever one final stop for a failed social game: termination of services. That was it. It seemed that Ginjou and the other members of his team were here at this conference only to await that announcement.

Akane sighed dramatically—more so than anyone would expect from her usual behavior. “I see,” she said. “How disappointing.”

“Disappointing...?” This time, Ginjou’s surprise seemed sincere.

“You did not value the correct things, Ginjou,” said Akane, with a light shake of her head. Then, “...Shiraseki.”

“Yes?”

“It is your turn.”

The instant Akane handed Kai the reins, Ginjou sent him a venomous glare, and it wasn’t just him. Once again, the stares of everyone in the room turned to follow Kai. The murmuring of the club members, asking each other what was going on sounded like the waves of the sea that he’d visited with Nanaka. He placed his laptop on the table and connected the cable that would let him project his screen onto the whiteboard.

However, Kai didn’t turn on the projector immediately, knowing that the first statement was crucial. He envisioned the ocean and Nanaka beside him as he summoned his voice from the bottom of his stomach, exclaiming, “Long time no see! I’m Shiraseki Kai!” The murmuring stopped, and the atmosphere dropped into silence. “Today...” He slammed the enter key on his keyboard and continued, “I come today not in order to suggest a means of improving Rondo... But rather, with a project proposal that will resurrect it from scratch.”

“...This—” Ginjou burst out, shooting out of his chair. “This is all too late! Do you comprehend what you’ve—”

“Ginjou-san,” Kai said, cutting him off in a calm, yet emotionally charged tone of voice. “Earlier, when President Kurenai asked you for your case, you said that you had nothing. In that case...” he paused, putting all his strength into his voice. “First, I’d like you to shut up and listen. I will address your concerns afterward.”

Ginjou looked at Akane as if to protest, but she paid him no attention. His face twisted so harshly that Kai could almost hear his teeth grate as he violently sat back down.

Ahem. Kai cleared his throat deliberately, bringing the restless crowd’s attention back to himself. For them to give him a chance to say his piece was the first hurdle, and Ginjou’s performance had been an appreciated boost that would allow Kai to clear it safely. All the pieces were in place. From this point forward, the only question remaining was whether or not Kai could deliver a convincing presentation.

“I believe we are all aware that Rondo is currently facing a crisis,” he began. “It has plummeted through the rankings, and none of our attempted improvements have hit home with our users. From this data, it’s clear that everyone on the management team has gone through great pains as of late.”

Kai advanced the presentation by one slide, in order to display a page with all the analyzed data neatly summarized. Neither the DAU, nor the retention rate, nor even the generally all-important KPI had any issues, and yet their sales would not go up. To be precise, the gacha wasn’t rolling.

Kai went out of his way to drive that point home. “The root cause of this issue can be thought of as an unshakable mistrust in Rondo’s management that stems from my information leak. Especially on the gacha end, nothing we’ve done in the time since then has resonated with our users.”

He advanced to yet another slide. This one had a compilation of all the gacha banners implemented since the incident, alongside the userbase’s reactions to those banners. The sales graph was practically a straight line as it crawled horizontally near the zero mark.

They already knew that. Within the club, this was information even a moron would understand. Did Kai come to rub it in their faces? Exhaustion and rage began to seethe out of the club members present.

“—With that said, let’s throw it all out,” Kai suggested, as he purposefully hurled the statement out at them with absolute disregard for their comprehension.

A silence that stemmed less from surprise and more from confusion spread throughout the room.

“Do you not understand?” This time, Kai chose words to provoke them as he advanced through the slideshow. “Let’s throw out the gacha,” he persisted. “The main component of my proposal is the discontinuation of the gacha.” The whiteboard was empty save for the words, ‘Gacha Discontinuation,’ which had been starkly printed in the middle of the screen.

Once they understood what he meant, the crowd began to stir. As if to champion them, Ginjou sprung to his feet again and shouted, “That’s plain ridiculous! Rondo’s monetization revolves around the gacha! Dropping that would just lead to our income being completely gone!”

“Obviously, we will need a new method for monetization—we’ll need to establish some method to get players to pay us,” Kai clarified. “Furthermore, it can’t be a small-scale solution: we’ll need to review our gameplay loop from the ground up and offer our users new content and a new way to play. Of course, we’ll be careful to keep the best parts about the game intact, but it’s already clear that this won’t be enough... which is why I said that this was a proposal to resurrect Rondo and have it be reborn anew.”

Kai clicked forward on the PowerPoint again. The new slide compiled a list of the new functions and content that he deemed to be necessary in conjunction with the discontinuation of the gacha. If you totaled all of the required changes—from the main content that comprised the core gameplay loop to the tiny details— it wasn’t far off from being the amount of work it’d take to make an entirely new game.

“Are you an idiot?! This...!” Ginjou clamored, “This isn’t any different from creating a new game! This isn’t realistic!”

“...It’s true that a plan of this scale would be an armchair proposal at best if you only had my word,” Kai agreed. “With that in mind, I prepared a prototype for the main gameplay and a handful of different features. Needless to say, I also ran simulations on the projected KPI improvements.”

Kai fired up Alchemia on his computer and opened up the prototype. In essence, prototypes were samples for gameplay that were used to test new features and suss out usability issues. You could think of it as being a tool to assess the reliability or fun factor of a given function.

The revelation Kai had two weeks ago when Nanaka said, ‘If everyone in Japan gave me ten yen each, then I’d be a multimillionaire!’ was a very simple one:

No matter how hard they tried, the gacha was not going to be trusted. They could publicly state that they’d amended all the issues, but people would still feel like they were being cheated in a part of the program that they couldn’t see. It was a pointless game of cat and mouse.

In that case... they needed to quit chasing. If the task is impossible, then it was time to give up. In exchange—though it wasn’t everyone in Japan—they could reorganize Rondo so that the huge number of people still playing would pay them without participating in the gacha.

Ten people could spend ten-thousand yen each to make one-hundred-thousand. A thousand people could spend one-hundred yen each to make the same amount. The final outcome they arrived at wouldn’t be any different.

At first, Kai had thought a prototype would be pushing it. But, as he now recalled past events, the scene had gone something like this...

“Welp, at this point, I feel like we should make a mockup, or like, maybe a full prototype?” Aya offered.

“In that case, do allow me to draw the characters,” Eru had responded.

“Then I’ll draw up the UI! A-And some characters!” Nanaka had exclaimed. “I wanna draw them with you...!

“Of course, dear,” Eru had agreed pleasantly. “But I’ll veto them if they’re low quality.”

“E-Eru,” he remembered Nanaka objecting, “that’s harsh!

As they’d compiled the details, they stumbled into that conversation and, before they knew it, the prototype had been finished. Thanks to that exchange, Kai now had something far more persuasive than a simple PowerPoint slideshow.

To what extent would Rondo’s sales recover if they implemented this? What was the projected cost effectiveness? How about the spending rate? Kai could take each element and run simulations to create documents for his presentation on his own, but there was no way he could have exhibited the real thing without the girls’ help.

There was no issue with the code, and Eru’s depiction of the Rondo characters was bound to be cute. Nanaka’s UI blended in well, without any oddities. The club members’ reaction to the prototype on screen wasn’t bad at all, and Kai could hear a positive, ‘Woah,’ wash over the room.

This was his chance to press the advantage. “What Ginjou said is completely true,” he told them. “This might be ridiculous. Obviously, there’s still a chance that our users won’t respond to our efforts even if we enact this plan.

“But didn’t you all come here today thinking that Rondo would be terminated?” he asked them. “Are you really okay with that? Before that happens, we should do everything within our power to try so long as the odds of success are more than zero. That’s what I think.”

Don’t you think so too? The hidden message was not lost on the audience as they began looking at one another.

“My proposal is to completely abandon Rondo’s strategy of aiming for large profits off of a select subset of users and, instead, focus on the many players who have stuck with us even now—yes, even now—and to shift our management policy to a wide but shallow net, so that our users can enjoy the game more than ever.”

Kai wanted his message to get through to them. He took a single step forward and continued, “In order to do so, superficial fixes aren’t going to cut it. They won’t reach our users! ‘We want to regain your trust, and we’re giving it our all to do so.’ For that message to reach them, we need a function like this...!”

Ginjou couldn’t find the words to refute him, and stood in silence. The rest of the club, too, swallowed their breath and patiently waited to see what the outcome would be.

A newfound silence gave birth to a moment without end. One second, two seconds, three seconds, Kai counted silently, as time continued to pass without any sort of reaction at all from Tsukigase’s club members. If I can’t get a response here, then I’ve failed. And then, at the very moment in which Kai had that thought, he heard a sound.

Clap, clap.

For a second, he didn’t know what he was listening to, but Kai realized what it was when he turned toward the source of the noise. Amidst the seated members of the club, a single person stood to applaud. She had been there, on that day, coding a bogus program in a pitch black room: it was Itou Haruka.

The gazes of the room shifted away from Kai and centered on Haruka. Still, she continued without flinching and, slowly, the clapping gained traction and rippled out across the room. By the time Kai realized it, he was standing in the middle of a large sea of applause.

“Hold it...!!!” Ginjou was now too flustered to keep his nice-guy persona in place, and he desperately shouted, “A-Are you all going to accept this ludicrous proposal?! He’s basically telling you to start over from scratch! Do you understand?!”

“...Ginjou, sit.” The applause stopped on a dime when Akane rose up from her seat. “—Explanation, and gratitude. For a moment, let me speak to this proposal, as well.”

With Akane’s motion, Kai stepped back and handed her the cable that had been plugged into his laptop, which Akane took from him and plugged in her own computer. A simple title that read, “Rondo’s Future Plans” appeared on the whiteboard.

“Originally, this meeting was meant to be composed of my own proposal, along with a recruitment drive for planners to see that plan through,” Akane explained, advancing through the slideshow.

Something new projected onto the screen. The words ‘Gacha Discontinuation’ were written on the next slide, pointing to the same answer that Kai had arrived at.

“Ginjou, do you remember? When you were deciding the members of your team, you asked me for, ‘A planner well-versed in both operation and improvement,’” Akane reminded him.

“Specifically, you asked for ‘Kurenai Akane’ to be included among Rondo’s development team. I presume you came to the conclusion that I was the most talented planner in the club. I acknowledged the value in your drive, and willingness to take the most effective path by any means necessary. However, I never did accept your request.” She glanced back at Kai. “In my stead, I offered you one man. He was still inexperienced, but given time and polish, he could one day shine even brighter than myself. I told you as much, did I not?”

“...What does that matter now?” Ginjou spluttered.

“—Impudence, extreme. Do you not understand? You were unable to properly assess his talents,” Akane said accusingly. “Instead, you prioritized your own stunted ego. Let me say this again: Ginjou, you did not value the correct things.”

Ginjou did not speak back. Whether due to regret or rage, he trembled as he sat back down with a bitter expression on his face.

“Shiraseki,” said Akane, turning to Kai.

“...Yes?”

“Today, I wanted to propose the same ‘Gacha Discontinuation’ idea as you, but I intended to decide on the accompanying plans at a later date. This was because the volume of this issue was truly that great. However, you created your proposal with suitable data analysis in mind, and what’s more, you completed a prototype design alongside it. Truly, well done... You’ve well surpassed my expectations, Shiraseki. You did well.” As she said so, Akane sported a gentle smile which Kai had never seen before.

“...Yes,” Kai agreed. “Thank you... very much...” His emotions would overflow if he gave them the slightest opportunity. I always, always... I had always chased the back of this dreamlike figure, he thought. But I never thought I would reach her. Now, for the first time, he felt as though he’d touched that dream.

“However, allow me to ask about one point of concern.” Akane’s new statement dragged Kai back to the present, and her demeanor had returned to its usual coolness. “I understand that you have your own circumstances. When do you plan to complete the project by?”

“Well...” Kai hesitated for a moment before solidifying his resolve. If he backed down now, then his original purpose would be completely lost. “...At the latest, by mid-August.”

It would be too late to release the revised version of Rondo at the end of August, which would be at the end of summer break. Kai needed it to come out before the second semester began, or his plan to wash away the dishonor coiled around his name wouldn’t make it in time. In order to stay on as a member of the Meikun High School Social Game Club, he needed to do something before then.

“Sorry to say, Shiraseki,” the large, bearlike director of Team 3 spoke after listening to their conversation. “But that’s gonna be a tough one. That’s the same time frame as our update. I hate to say it, but we’re already borrowing manpower from other projects, especially in the graphics teams.”

“LW also...” Team 1’s director chimed in as well. “In order to implement a new set of content, we’re currently borrowing a good deal of programmers from other projects. Unfortunately, I think it would be difficult to complete your plans by that deadline with our current internal resources. The Rondo team alone would not be enough to finish the work by that point.”

“Y-Yes, but...!” Kai objected in shock. “At this rate, Rondo—”

“Surely you don’t mean to say that we should neglect the users of our other projects solely for Rondo, do you?” Team 1’s director cut in. “I believe there wouldn’t be any issue if you simply shift the schedule back.”

“Yep, that’s about right,” Team 3’s director concurred.

“Yes... but...” Then it won’t mean anything, was what Kai wanted to scream. However, that was his own personal issue. Just as they’d said, there were users that were waiting on other teams’ management efforts, too. As frustrating as it was... Kai couldn’t find any reason to put all of them on the back foot for his own problems.

Something. Anything. I have to say something. The more desperate his thoughts grew, the more the words got stuck in his throat. That was why... he thought the stress of the situation was causing him to hallucinate.

“Kai-kun, it’s okay!” Nanaka cried out.

“Geez,” snickered Aya, “why the hell are you freaking out with that hilarious look on your face?”

“Oh dear, what happened to all that vigor you had earlier?” asked Eru, with an elegant sigh.

In the very back of the conference room, behind all the club members, were three familiar faces. Kai rubbed his eyes and pinched his cheeks, but they wouldn’t disappear.

“W-Why...?” he asked.

“‘Why...?’” Nanaka mimicked back.

The three girls looked at one another and shook their heads with a sigh.

“We were worried, so we came to help you. Duh!” Nanaka smiled as she spoke up for the three of them.

“Anyhoo, back to what you were saying earlier,” Aya reminded him. “You’ve got a programmer right here. This is easy for me—I mean, I’ve got no intentions of taking until August or summer break or whatever for something like this.”

“And I can handle the graphics... Dear me, this ‘prestigious’ school isn’t much to see if they’re going to kick up a fuss about something on this level,” observed Eru.

“E-Eru! Would you stop that, for now, at least?!” Nanaka said, chastising her friend. “Oh, I-I’ll help out wherever I can!” Then, glancing over at Kai, she said, “Kai-kun!”

“Y-Yes?!” he panicked and responded in a loud voice.

For a reason that he didn’t quite understand, Nanaka happily smiled at him. Then she said, “If we’re with you, it’ll be okay, won’t it?”

“It...” Kai himself knew their abilities more than anyone else, so there was only one answer, and he turned to face Akane head on. “Kurenai-san,” he called out to her, but did not call her ‘President Kurenai.’ Surely, he never would again. “With these three with us,” he went on, “it will be okay.”

“I see,” Akane said simply, nodding as if she knew this was how it would turn out all along.