Chapter 5: School Game Developer Summit

The Summit Drawing Ceremony took place at a private school located in Shinjuku, and it took about two hours to travel from Niigata to Tokyo by bullet train. Since the ceremony began at 2:00 pm, the five members of the Meikun High School Social Game Club met up and boarded before noon.

Owing to the fact that it was a normal weekday, the non-reserved section of the train was fairly vacant. Nanaka and Aya sat together, with Kai and Aina in the seat behind them. Behind those two, Eru sat alone.

Aina had been staring out the window for a while, but as they entered a dark tunnel, she finally opened her mouth. “How long are you going to leave her like that?” she asked quietly, so that only Kai could hear her.

“...Are you going to tell us what happened?” he countered.

Aina continued to stare out the window and into the dark walls of the tunnel. Without so much as turning around, she said with a laugh, “But! But! I didn’t do anything! Eru’s just mad at me for no reason... but, you know... I’m sure it’s not her fault. There was probably a misunderstanding somewhere—would you believe me if I said that?”

“...Sorry,” Kai told her. “I think I worded that wrong.”

“It’s not about how you worded it,” Aina quipped. “You’re asking the wrong person.”

“That’s not something I can do,” Kai admitted. “I’m leaving it to Nanaka-san.”

“Huh, you’re more businesslike than I thought,” Aina observed. “Not like I have anything against that.”

Kai would have considered sitting next to Eru had they not crossed paths at the supermarket the day before. But at this point, it was clear that doing so would have been a pointless waste of his time. In that case, he thought...

“I don’t know whether or not what you just said is true,” he began. “And... as rude as it is for me to say so, I don’t think I can trust you.”

“...Well, isn’t that natural?” Aina retorted. “I think it’d be weirder to trust someone so easily.”

“But that’s because I still don’t know much about you,” he said, locking eyes with her reflection in the dark window. “The time I spend talking to you has the same amount of value as the time I spend talking to Kuroba-san... I think.”

...I won’t know if I don’t talk to them, Kai told himself, although there wasn’t any guarantee that he’d come to understand either girl through conversation. He also worried that he might add pressure to someone’s personal struggles, as he had when inadvertently exposing Nanaka’s insecurities as an illustrator.

But, he thought, if I had gone one step further... If I had confronted each and every one of her tears more seriously... Even today, that thought continued to follow him. Whenever he laid in bed, kept up by his thoughts, Kai would always think back to Nanaka’s tearful face, lit by the setting sun. He knew that all the ‘what-ifs’ in his mind would never amount to anything, which was exactly why he was determined to face his current troubles head on.

“...You’re such a...” Aina trailed off midway through speaking, shifting her gaze from the window to eye him suspiciously for a moment. “Humph,” she said, turning back to the glass. As she did so, the train exited the tunnel, and she remained silent until they arrived in Tokyo.

◇

The group changed trains at Tokyo Station to ride the Chuo Line until Shinjuku. Whether it was the middle of a workday or not, Tokyo was always overflowing with people, and Shinjuku especially so. They mistakenly headed for the south gate, only to find themselves at the east gate, and after much confusion they finally exited via the west gate.

They reached their final destination after ten minutes or so of walking, and promptly entered an elevator upon arrival. After getting off at their floor, they found a large set of double doors a short distance away. There was a receptionist directly in front of the entrance who said, “Please wear this inside the venue,” as he handed each one of them a neck strap. The strap had a clear pocket dangling off of it containing an identification card that listed their names and school.

On the other side of the double doors was a large university lecture hall, complete with rows of terraced seating. It seemed that each high school in attendance had their own assigned seats, so they quickly found the spot reserved for Meikun High and sat down.

“This is kinda exciting,” Nanaka said giddily as she took the seat next to Kai.

“...You mean, the drawing?” he asked.

“No, not that,” she said with a small laugh. “This is my first time ever visiting a college classroom.”

“Huh... I see.”

“You seem pretty calm about it.”

“But now that you’ve mentioned it, it’s sort of on my mind.” Kai looked around to see that the hall was now almost at capacity. The differing uniforms sitting side by side gave off a subtle aura of tension. That’s probably why Nanaka-san’s speaking so softly, he thought.

“College, huh...” Nanaka mumbled. “Kai-kun, what are you gonna do after graduating? Work? University?”

“...University, I think.”

“Are you gonna go back to Tokyo for that?” she questioned.

“...I haven’t sat down to think about it yet, but probably.” Previously, Akane had told Kai that she’d slip his name to the recruiters at Tricolore Games... However, there was no realistic chance that he’d get a job like that.

The reason Akane had been invited to such a meritocratic company was because she herself had slowly racked up a great deal of achievements—not because someone had simply recommended her.

Shiraseki Kai did not have such achievements. Thus, he refused to buy into the fantasy that some company would send him an offer prior to graduation, which meant that he’d need higher education.

When it came to social games, a good chunk of the fresh hires made by the IT industry centered around college graduates. There were a handful of companies that accepted new recruits directly out of high school, but those were primarily for skilled illustrators or programmers. In essence, they wanted specialized experience, and it was uncommon for planners to fall under that umbrella.

On top of that, most game development companies were based in Tokyo. Thinking ahead to his future job hunt, it wouldn’t make sense to choose a university anywhere else—the cost of travel and lodging would rack up quickly. For example, if he were to go to college in Niigata, he’d have to use 20,000 yen on a round trip bullet train per interview. He couldn’t justify spending that much every time he got further into a company’s selection process. There were some companies that would recompense travel expenses, but that wasn’t something he could consistently rely on.

As a result, the most pragmatic choice was to find a school in Tokyo. Kai thought logically, chose logically, and decided on his future logically, which almost made it sound as though he was a prudent decision-maker. But... frankly, that decision was merely a process of elimination. It wasn’t anything to be proud of.

After Kai summed up his explanation to Nanaka, she shook her head at him. “That’s not true... You’re amazing,” she told him. “I don’t have any other friends who’ve thought about their future like you.”

“Amazing...? No way. I’m so worthless that I have to think about my future to make it work.”

“Kai-kun,” Nanaka said as she pointed a finger directly in front of Kai’s nose. “‘—Do not submit yourself to inadequacy,’ right?”

“...Right,” he mumbled.

“Haha, Akane-san is amazing, too.”

“What about you, Nanaka-san? College?”

“...I haven’t thought about it properly, either... but, probably. But I think, instead of college, I think I’d be okay with a trade school for game development,” said Nanaka. “After all, there’s too many things about making a game that I don’t understand at all. I’d like to go to Tokyo, too... but my parents want me to try to get into a national university back home, so that might be a bit tough. It’s not like I’m that smart,” she concluded with an awkward laugh. As if to overwrite her statement, the entrance to the lecture hall blew open with a loud slam!

The man who walked through the doorway was built like a pro wrestler, probably in his mid-thirties. His black leather jacket was unzipped and a decal of an anime character peeked out from the t-shirt beneath it. He had donned a pair of sunglasses, and the top of his head had been shaven bald.

The long stride of his torn jeans was accompanied by a loud thud with each step. He walked all the way to the back of the room—where the lecturer’s podium was located—and sat down there, with his legs crossed. He removed his sunglasses to reveal a mean glare, and his unshaven mouth twisted into an unpleasant smile.

After refusing a microphone from an event organizer, he began speaking. “Ahem. Welcome, all of you, and well done for making it on time. The guy who’s supposed to be here caught a summer cold, so I’ll be standing in as the judge. I’m Hifumi Tetsuma. I usually work as a producer at a company called Tricolore Games, but all that crap about me doesn’t matter.”

The tense crowd of students had begun stirring from the instant he entered the venue. It had nothing to do with his appearance; rather, it was a quiet frenzy caused by the fact that the Hifumi Tetsuma had shown up.

Hifumi Tetsuma was one of the infamous producers behind the industry powerhouse, Tricolore Games. Every title he had a hand in had been a hit. He was involved in everything from RPGs to shooters, and yet all of his games were fun. There were more than a handful of planners at Tsukigase who looked up to him.

“Hmm... Looks like you’ve all heard of me, huh.” Tetsuma himself seemed to have caught on to the atmosphere in the room and he heaved a massive sigh. “Let me just say this: I haven’t heard of you. They told me that there’s a bunch of first-class students lined up here, so I should keep tabs on any kids that look promising—but I’m not gonna do that. This is a pain in my ass. I can’t even smoke here.”

Tetsuma pulled a cigarette out of his pocket while muttering, “Can’t they at least let me have a smoke?” under his breath. Upon closer inspection, what he had was a crumpled cigarette that had already been used. Nevertheless, he put it into his mouth and seemed truly at peace as he inhaled through it.

“Pwaah! That hits the spot... Honestly, nicotine’s the only thing I can trust,” he sighed. Then he continued on to say, “Alright! Let’s get this show on the road. In the past, I think Summit looked through your project proposals, but there’s no need for that this time because it’s a fucking pain.

“I’m sure you all want to hurry up and make your game, right? Then do it,” he told them. “Well, if you wanna write up a proposal then go for it. I won’t read it, and I certainly won’t judge you off of it. The only thing I’m looking at is your final product. Oh, and it doesn’t have to be a game, either. We’ll hand out topics for each pair of schools, so as long as you follow that I don’t give a damn what kind of app it is. Let’s see... if you want a proper rule, then how about ‘anything goes as long as it’s fun’?”

Having dispensed with the preliminaries, Tetsuma now inspected the room from side to side with a scowl. Everyone had been overwhelmed into silence. He concluded with, “That’s it from me. If you have any questions, ask them now; if not, we’ll move on to the drawing. Anything?”

A few seconds elapsed in silence, but then a boy near the front of the room raised his hand.

“You,” Tetsuma ordered. “Tell me your question.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you very much for your explanation. This isn’t a question in regards to the rules at Summit, but rather a personal question for you—for Hifumi Tetsuma. Is that okay with you, sir?”

“...Go ahead.”

“Thank you very much. In the future, I would like to work in the games industry as a planner. I very much look up to the games you make. However, Hifumi-san, you have never once agreed to an interview. I doubt I’ll ever have a chance like this again, so I’d like to ask you to tell us one thing—anything—that you keep in mind to make good games.” The boy’s voice was awkward and rife with nervousness. He was clearly telling the truth when he said he looked up to Hifumi Tetsuma as a creator.

After glaring at the boy for a moment, Tetsuma suddenly erupted with laughter. “Gwahahahahaha—cough! What a dumbass question! This is why I didn’t wanna come to a place like this.” He scratched the back of his head and pointed directly at the dumbfounded boy. “You. You making fun of me?”

“N-No! I would never!”

“If you were being serious, then that’s even worse... Look, people say my games are all a hit, but even then, the best I’ve been able to do is make the top 10 in the rankings. You know that much, don’t you?”

“Y-Yes, sir...”

“Listen here: I’m always giving it my all to make it to the very top. Always have been, and always will. Something I ‘keep in mind to make good games,’ huh?” Tetsuma scoffed. “Why the fuck should I spill my secrets for some kid who doesn’t know the first thing about games? You plan on becoming a planner, right? Then you’re gonna be a corporate enemy in the future. There’s nothing in it for me to tell you!”

The boy’s response was now an inaudible murmur, but Tetsuma continued to hammer him. “It’s not just you, got it?” Then, addressing the rest of them, he asked, “Are all of you here trying to learn how to make a game from someone else? Are you stupid?

“There’s no textbook on how to make a game. There isn’t even one proper way to make a project proposal. Nobody knows the answer; that’s what makes it so fun.” He slammed his foot on the ground and shot back up to his feet.

“I came here to be a judge, not a teacher. No one knows where the next fun game will come from, and that’s doubly true for a one-and-done deal like this. That’s why I’m treating you as equal creators. You’re students, but before that, you’re creators like me. That’s my end, so you all better hold up your end and start talking to me with your output. I don’t need any of the extra crap... Any other questions?”

At some point, the boy in the front had sat down, and nobody else dared to raise their hand. The lecture hall was quiet again, but it was a different breed of silence than what it had been before. There was magma bubbling from the floor, and everyone in attendance had an unspoken fiery drive running up their spines.

“Should’ve been like that from the start,” Tetsuma said with a laugh, glaring out across the room. “Alright, let’s start the drawing.”

◇

The drawing did not use a classic lottery box with a hole in the top.

“All our battles are fought digitally. We can’t be using an analog option like that.” With that declaration, a giant screen came down from the ceiling behind Hifumi Tetsuma. The lecture hall went dark and the projector began to whirr.

The display showed a 3D model of a giant gacha machine. There were a ton of plastic capsules all tossed together, each of which held a plate with a school’s name etched on it. The only difference from a normal gacha machine was that there were two slots for the prizes to come out of instead of one.

Tetsuma tapped on his smartphone. The machine churned out two balls, which split neatly in two with a satisfying clack sound to reveal two nameplates. With this, the first set of opponents had been decided.

“But wait, there’s more,” he announced. As if the animation had been waiting for his cue, the plates began to turn. On the other side, the plates had the words ‘Weapon’ and ‘Feels Good’ written on them, respectively.

“These two are your topics,” he informed them. “It’s technically a rule for you to include this prompt in the design of your game, but I’ll leave the interpretation up to you. You can take ‘Weapon’ to mean swords and guns, or you can argue that ‘Thought is man’s greatest weapon!’ or whatever to expand your bounds. Anyway, this one’s on the easier side to understand—boooring.”

The drawing continued on without much else to note. Meikun High’s name didn’t appear until the very end, when the 3D model was completely out of capsules. The other plate that came out alongside theirs read ‘Kongouin Academy.’ It seemed their opponents were to be the infamously bourgeois team at Kongouin.

And then, the plates flipped around to display their topics: ‘Character’ and ‘Breath.’ These two words would be their theme for the competition.

The projector screen had shifted its perspective back to the empty gacha machine. Despite having been completely exhausted of capsules, it continued to wobble as if there were more to come. Then, it suddenly popped up and exploded into pieces. The special effects were beautifully done and had far more work put into them than they deserved.

“Alright! That’s it, we’re done! C’mon, get out! Hurry up and go home so you can start development! Your job is to turn in a fun app in two weeks’ time, so—”

A member of the event staff frantically ran up to Tetsuma and whispered something into his ear. “...Tch. Apparently, there’s going to be a party in the next room over after we’re done here,” Tetsuma told them. “Sounds like they set up some food that’s way too good for you brats, too. Go if you want. Sorry to say so, but I hate these kinds of pointless social events, and I’m going home.

“So long, kiddos. I’m not expecting much, but I wish you all the best of luck.” Tetsuma gave them an emphatic thumbs-up and left the scene with the same thunderous footsteps as his initial entrance.

His departure caused the razor-sharp tension in the air to soften. Some students stood around and discussed the results amongst themselves, while others made their way out immediately. It seemed a lot of the schools were Summit regulars, as Kai could see people with different uniforms chatting with one another.

“Should we go to the party?” Nanaka asked everyone.

“Anything is fine,” Eru answered.

Hooked by the promise of food, Aya suggested, “They have sweets, so why not go?”

“I wonder what kind of yummy food they prepared. I’m so excited! ♪” Aina concurred.

“Then... let’s go,” Kai agreed. It wasn’t as if there was an entrance fee, and they still had time before their train home departed. With the offer of a free meal, they had nothing to lose, even if they didn’t have a more concrete reasoning to attend.

“Okay!” Nanaka exclaimed. “Plus, we should go greet our opponents at Kongouin Academy.”

“Ah, that too,” Kai agreed. He hadn’t even considered that.

“Oh?” Aya eyed him curiously. “Senpai, are you gonna pretend to greet them and start a fight? Sounds good to me! Go tell those Kongouin pricks to add sparking to BeauSt!”

“Cheers to that!” Aina joined in.

Aya and Aina nodded together and exchanged a quick high-five. Kai didn’t quite understand why, but the two of them got along strangely well. “That’s just your personal grudge,” he lectured.

“It’s the user’s grudge,” Aya corrected.

“That’s still not my problem,” he insisted.

“...If you’re going to dawdle like this, I’m going on ahead,” Eru said as she made for the door.

“Ah! Eru! Wait, wait!” Nanaka chased after her and the other three followed slightly behind.

The party was being held in the room opposite the lecture hall in which the drawing had taken place. This was a simpler room with level flooring, in which tables had been lined up against the wall like a buffet. A handful of tables had been placed in the middle of the room so that guests had a place to put their plates down.

Kai overheard the conversations of the students around him as he lined up for the buffet. The majority were talking about Hifumi Tetsuma: some passionately applauded his speech while others were more cynical, calling his entire performance an obvious act. However, it was a fact that he was the center of conversation, for better or worse.

“Everyone’s talking about that guy,” Nanaka said.

“Yeah, they are,” Kai agreed.

“I get it.” She took a bite of the fruit on her plate and continued, “‘There’s no textbook on how to make a game.’ ...I was just talking about my future with you, so I felt like he was saying that directly to me.”

“Nanaka-san,” he protested, “that was an extreme case, so—”

Amidst the hubbub of the party, a piercingly high voice landed its mark like an arrow in Kai’s ear. “Goodness me,” it said, “how trite! Everywhere I turn, the masses are hooked on that bald old man. I have been surrounded by superficial drones who yield themselves to passion without logic! Say... do you not agree, ladies and gentleman of Meikun High?”

When Kai turned to see where it came from, he saw... a boy that looked like a mushroom. He was a mushroom—Kai was sure of it. There was no other way to describe him. He wasn’t quite a thick matsutake, but more of a gangly white mushroom. Despite being all skin and bones, he was nearly two meters tall. The unhealthy bluish complexion on his face was adorned with glasses as round as the bottom of a milk bottle and a neatly trimmed bowl cut.

Was that his voice? thought Kai. As soon as the question arose in his mind, the boy shook his head and gestured to his own feet. Kai obliged him and looked down to see a girl.

“No! No, no, no! You looked down on me, didn’t you?!” With her index finger pointed toward Kai, the girl looked like a spear sticking out of the ground. She must have been the one who was talking, he noted. She looked even shorter than Aya, with hair that had been tightly coiled into a pair of golden drills (which Kai had only ever seen in anime) that swayed to the rhythm of her melodramatic movements.

“What...! What utter humiliation-ation-ation!” she cried out dramatically. “Kinoyama!!!”

“As you command.” The mushroom boy slithered into place in front of her with a motion that was difficult to put to words, and got down on all fours. The short girl mercilessly placed her feet on his back without a moment’s hesitation. “Ohhhhooo...!” The mushroom boy let out a disgusting sigh of ecstasy as he was stepped on, like he was preparing to release a cloud of spores.

After having mounted the boy, the girl overtook Kai in terms of height. Now she puffed out her chest, stretched her spine, and tilted her head back in order to be able to look down on them. “Hmph,” she chuckled contentedly.

“Um...” Kai ventured, “Who might you be?”

“Y-You...! You mean to say you don’t know who I am...?! I see the miniscule amount of time you spent on the front page of the School Social Game Link has gone straight to your head!” the girl scoffed. “What an unscrupulous man you are!”

“It is just as you say, my lady,” Kinoyama, the boy upon whom she was standing, echoed.

“Wha— Kinoyama! Don’t move!” she scolded him. “It’s scary when I sway about! Commit yourself to being a pedestal!”

The girl dug her heel into his back and he let out another vulgar squeal. “D-fough! As you wish!!!” The sound he made caused Kai physical discomfort.

The girl slipped a dazzlingly ornate fan out of the pocket of her uniform and opened it once to show off. Then she snapped the fan shut and pointed it toward Kai with vigor. “Very well,” she concluded, “I suppose it is our first time meeting, now that I think of it. Since you are so sorely lacking in both tact and height, I suppose I shall shoulder the burden of maturity and offer my name. I am Kongouin Mirei! No need for formalities, you shall call me ‘Lady Mirei.’ Also, it is nice to meet you!”

“N-Nice to meet you,” Kai replied.

“Ohohohoho!” she chortled. “What was that pathetic greeting?! I see that you have been thoroughly intimidated by the great Mirei herself! Kinoyama! Do you not think our victory has been decided?!”

“It is as you say, my lady.”

“...Hey! Kinoyama! You. Are. A. Pedestal! Stop moving!”

“D-foughhh...!”

“Um,” said Nanaka, gingerly approaching them. “Would you happen to be students from Kongouin Academy?”

“Exactly! How perceptive of you! ‘First: live beautifully!’ With my gorgeous face embodying our school’s motto so well, I’m sure it was trifling for you to notice!”

“Um... I don’t really know anything about your motto,” Nanaka confessed, “but your name was the same, so...”

“Then you must surely be blind,” Mirei declared. “I regret having praised you. I had my hopes for the rumored Shiraseki Kai, but I suppose that after coming all this way from the backwater that is Niigata, it can’t be helped that all of you are so boorish—wait, what’s this?” Mirei kicked Kinoyama’s rump, and he began to move, sliding across the floor while maintaining his four-legged stance in order to make his way over to Aya and Aina.

“What?” Aya asked in a standoffish tone. “You’re too loud. Step back.”

“My, a shy one, aren’t we?” Mirei teased. “Your hairstyle is modeled after my own, is it not?”

“Huh?”

Now that she mentioned it, Kai noticed that both of the girls were blonde. On top of that, they were both extremely short.

“But this is no good,” Mirei noted regretfully. “Look, the ends are frayed. If you want to mimic me, then live beautifully.” She snapped her fingers, and a girl instantly came to her side with ninja-like movements to hand Mirei something.

“Use this hair treatment,” she commanded. “Also, with hair like that, I’m sure you don’t take care of your skin, either. Here, this is a set of my favorite cosmetics. I wonder if you know how to use it? If not, feel free to take a gander at the instructions left within.”

“Wha—I don’t need this!” Aya declared hotly. “Who do you think you are?!”

“I am Kongouin Mirei!”

“Geez, shut up! Why are you yelling when I’m right in front of you?!”

“No need to be so sheepish. Well, you there, standing beside her. Do lend her a hand if she can’t figure... oh?” Mirei kicked Kinoyama again.

“Heeheehee!” he yelped enthusiastically, carrying her over until she was staring down Aina.

“...You’re quite beautiful,” Mirei noted, her eyes shining with glee and melting in pleasure as though she had set her sights upon the most beautiful gemstone known to man.

“Really? Thanks! ♪” Aina hummed. “And you’re... Kongouin Mirei-san, right?”

“...Perhaps a tad too beautiful,” Mirei concluded.

“...Huh?”

“I will create the most beautiful game this world has ever seen. As such, I have studied every form of beauty on this planet... There is simply no universe in which I would miss a stunning specimen like you.”

“Aww, but I’m just a regular high school girl...” Aina gushed. “Right, Kai-kun?”

The memories of her entering the club and the events at his house prevented Kai from nodding along when Aina added the word ‘just’ to her statement. She had left far too much of an impression on him for that. Besides, he could definitely see the beauty that Mirei was talking about. Aina was definitely gorgeous; he could say that without any reserve.

“There’s no need for you to turn to that potato for support,” Mirei told her. “After all, you are beautiful.”

Kai noted that he had suddenly been demoted to potato. The girl who had done so was now observing Aina with all the focus of a person peering through a keyhole.

After some deliberation, Mirei seemed to have come to a conclusion. “...Could it be?” she finally asked. “Yozakura?”

It only lasted for an instant: Aina grit her teeth and her expression stiffened for a fraction of a second, but it was enough for Mirei to confirm her suspicions.

“Indeed, there is no room for doubt!” she declared. “Yozakura Aina! To think you would grow to be so dazzling! I see the sands of time have polished you into a true beauty! I suppose it’s no wonder I didn’t notice! For that Aina to be in a place like—”

“Hey?” said a quiet voice, cutting her off. “Is it fun to run your mouth about someone else like that?”

A terrified whimper escaped from Mirei’s mouth.

By contrast, Aina’s face was a brilliant smile. The corners of her lips were more perfectly symmetrical than a bisque doll, and the tails of her eyes were nice and relaxed... but her gaze told a completely different story.

“Juuust kidding! ♪” Aina said melodically. “Ahh, if you’ll excuse me. I have to go and ‘water the flowers’!” She twirled around in place and her dark, lustrous hair twirled with her as she winked goodbye, and was gone before anyone could say another word.

Mirei had frozen in place like a grade-schooler in a haunted house, but she returned to her wits once Aina had left. “...I see. I had presumed you to be unworthy of being our opponents, but allow me to revise my opinion,” she declared. “Ladies and gentleman of Meikun High—under my command, Kongouin Academy shall do its utmost to bestow a most beautiful defeat upon you!”

“You sure bark loud for a group that only has graphics,” Aya sneered. “All your development competitions have been trainwrecks.”

“Ah-chan, don’t say that...” Nanaka mumbled.

“Hmph. I am well aware that we at Kongouin Academy are the butt of many jokes: ‘They’re letting the money do all the talking,’ they say. Thus, our ability to win a development competition that measures fundamental skills is considered laughable.”

“That’s your fault,” Eru snapped. “It’s not the illustrations’ fault you failed.”

“It is as you say,” Mirei concurred. “As expected of the esteemed Kuroba Eru.”

“Oh? I don’t remember becoming acquainted with someone like you.”

“I said that I study all that is beautiful, did I not? Your drawings are certainly so... Yet, how unfortunate,” Mirei concluded. “Your art could be considered Meikun’s sole weapon, and still it poses no threat to us.”

“Dear me, you sure do like to talk before we’ve even begun,” Eru jabbed back.

“Do you mean to suggest we cannot know until the deed has been done? I wonder,” Mirei mused. “I’m sure you country folk are here to enjoy a riveting summer’s challenge, but we are here with resolution. ‘It’s not the illustrations’ fault,’ indeed. The beauty we create is faultless, and I will not permit anyone to defame it. We simply don’t have time to lose to a leisure club like yours.”

No matter who Mirei was, Kai thought, her mouth had run for a little too long. He could see that Nanaka was moving in to speak, but his own mouth was already open.

“...If money could buy an enjoyable experience, no game developer would have to struggle again. So, I understand why you’d be upset that people bash your work... But it’s not like resolution can guarantee fun, either,” he put in. “And even if it could, I still don’t think we would lose to you.”

Mirei was clearly affected by his words, as she pouted her lips and furrowed her brow. “I wasn’t aware that potatoes were capable of speech,” she retorted acerbically. “Shiraseki Kai, what sort of resolve do you claim to have?”

“‘As a creator, speak with your output.’ ...Isn’t that right? If you want to win so badly, then you should heed the words of our judge,” Kai suggested.

“...I take it you have no intention of revealing your hand... Haha! It seems that you at least learned something from your time at Tsukigase! You—excuse me, you all seem to be somewhat amusing... Allow me to offer my apologies for my rudeness,” Mirei offered graciously.

“...Thanks.”

“Yes, well, I’m quite looking forward to when we next meet. Now then, I bid you adieu,” she said, gathering her skirts with both hands in order to bob a curtsy at them. “Kinoyama, let us go home!”

A stomping sound was accompanied by a nightmarish “D-foughhooo!” and Kinoyama took off with his lady still atop him. Mirei had drawn out her fan, and the sound of her “Ohohohohoho!” could be heard well after she had left the room.