Chapter 6: The Emptiness of Beginning

The Meikun High group left the building after Aina’s return. The timing lined up nicely for them to head straight to Tokyo station and catch their bullet train. On the ride home, Eru once again sat alone in the front, with Aina and Aya behind her, and Kai and Nanaka behind them. There were a good number of people traveling with their families, perhaps owing to the fact that it was summer vacation. Maybe they’re going back to their homes in Niigata, Kai thought.

“Here you go,” Nanaka said, handing him a cookie that she had bought at a gift shop.

“Thanks,” Kai replied, as she got up to reach over the seats in front of her and pass the sweets around to the rest of the club’s members. “Are you sure?” he inquired. “Weren’t these supposed to be gifts?”

“I bought some for my family separately, so it’s okay!” she told him. “I wanted to eat these right away, so I bought them specifically for the train ride home.”

“I see.” In that case, there wasn’t any reason for him to decline. The chocolate cookie was so soft that it melted when he put it into his mouth. It was sweet, but comfortably mild. Perhaps the stressful environment he had been in a moment ago added to that feeling.

“Thanks, Kai-kun.”

“...Uhh?”

“I feel like I was supposed to be the one to stand up to her, as the club president.”

Kai realized she was talking about the last bit of conversation he’d had with Kongouin Mirei. “No, I basically just played right into her provocation...” he assured her. “I meant to put it more nicely...”

“I mean, she made fun of us,” Nanaka protested. “I don’t think you were in the wrong!”

“...No. It might have seemed that way on the surface, but I think she wasn’t actually badmouthing us,” Kai concluded. That’s why I wanted to restrain myself a bit more.

Nanaka tilted her head curiously and asked, “What do you mean?”

“This is just my personal theory,” he said as Nanaka nodded along, “but I think she was testing us.”

“...Does that mean she thought we weren’t motivated?”

“She was probably testing our motivation, too,” he agreed. However, that hadn’t been Mirei’s main point, which was why Kai had gotten so upset.

“Do you remember the goal she mentioned? ...She wanted to give it her all to win and overcome their bad reputation,” Kai reminded Nanaka. “I don’t think she was lying. So, they need to win. But their opponents were first-time participants at Summit and their social game was near the bottom of the rankings... Motivation aside, she questioned, ‘Will winning against people like us even mean anything?’”

“...What the heck,” Nanaka said, squeezing her hand into a fist.

“This is all my interpretation, though,” Kai said, all while thinking to himself, I should have stayed calm. No matter how intensely his heart boiled, he needed to keep his head cool.

“—Beginning, calm. The god of rational thought favors a cool abode. Do not let the blood rush to your head, Shiraseki.” Akane had often scolded him this way whenever he lost his temper. Kai wouldn’t have expected it, but he’d come to accept that he was quick to rise to emotional provocation. He was utterly hopeless when it came to conveying that through words and expression, but his feelings themselves were subject to the slightest trigger.

If Mirei had only questioned his resolve, he wouldn’t have gotten so upset. Kai had no idea how prepared the people at Kongouin Academy were—he didn’t know how serious they were, either, and that went both ways. For example, they had no idea what kind of determination Nanaka had. Mirei didn’t know, and yet she’d looked down on her anyway. That was why he couldn’t stay silent.

“...You know, Kai-kun...” For whatever reason, Nanaka seemed genuinely happy as she said, “You’re actually really passionate. Like that time you bit your thumb.”

Kai reflexively looked down at his right hand, thinking that this was a prime example of his hot-headedness.

“I really like that part about you.”

“............Huh?”

“Ah, th-tha-that’s not what I meant, okay?!” Nanaka rushed to assure him. “My friends in class said you were expressionless and hard to read, so...!”

“Oh, s-s-s-s-so th-that’s what you meant.” Kai stumbled through his sentence and sighed internally with disappointment. It was a fact that he was expressionless, so there wasn’t any use in letting her statement get him down, but humans are creatures whose greatest weakness is being confronted with the truth. Still, it would probably be terrifying to everybody if he were to suddenly start emoting after the end of summer break. What the hell? This is a lose-lose situation, he complained to himself.

“I-I keep telling them they’re wrong, but they don’t believe me... Maybe I should go ahead and tell them the thumb-biting story?” Nanaka mused.

“Uh, please, anything but that...” Their impression of Kai might change, but that would surely be from ‘quiet kid’ to ‘psychopath.’

“Aww... But I wouldn’t have guessed that Kongouin-san was thinking that,” Nanaka pointed out.

“I’m pretty sure that was the ‘rudeness’ she apologized for at the end.”

“I see... Hey, wait?” Nanaka put her pointer finger to her cheek and began to ponder. “But... if she apologized, then she’s not that bad of a person, right?”

“I’m not sure, but I think so, too. If she really were looking down on us, then she wouldn’t have apologized for it afterwards,” Kai agreed cautiously. “She probably just wanted to confirm that we were up to par.”

“...Hey, Kai-kun? Whenever a character like that shows up in a game... isn’t it usually a super powerful enemy?”

Kai could only muster a dry smile, thinking that it seemed Nanaka had caught his drift. Just as Kongouin Mirei had said, Meikun High was a fresh-off-the-farm country school that showed up to its first ever Summit with zero experience.

Kongouin Academy, on the other hand, was a regular participant. Manpower, experience, team coordination—everything was on different levels. To begin with, Kai and company had never competed in a development contest with their current members. On top of that—

“But I’m sure it’ll be fine!” Nanaka’s hands were balled up again, but this time they were overflowing with enthusiasm as she pumped them once in front of her chest. “Maybe ‘fine’ isn’t a good word... I mean, we’ve never even done this before! All we can do is try and give it our all!”

Her bright words, full of encouragement and bravery, shone a spotlight on the dark thoughts plaguing Kai’s mind that shocked him back into the present.

It was the same straightforward radiance as the sun suddenly appearing in front of his eyes. Nanaka is right, Kai thought. If you haven’t done it before, then all you can do is try. Dragging your feet because you have no experience will just leave you stuck in the same spot. He was supposed to know that already.

“...Kai-kun?”

“Oh, s-sorry.”

Nanaka squinted at him quizzically and then laughed. “You’re so funny, Kai-kun. I’ve never been in a development competition before, so I think I’ll be relying on you a lot... but I’ll do anything I can! How should we go about this all?”

“First... is coming up with a plan,” Kai reasoned. “He said we don’t need a project proposal, but that just meant he won’t judge us off of it, and it’s usually an important step to complete.”

“Then the project proposal it is!” declared Nanaka. “Should we all do it together? Or just the planners?”

“About that...” Kai took a small breath, held it, and let it go. If you haven’t done it before, then all you can do is try. Find your determination. “Can you give me two days to myself?”

◇

“If you guys don’t mind, then, first I’d like to come up with a proposal on my own.” Why did I say that? he wondered. That thought had been gnawing at the corner of Kai’s heart since he’d told Nanaka his plan in the train. All he was going to do was create a rough draft. However, since even that took time, he got two days. Thus, the club would be on break for that period of time.

He had explained that to the members in the front seats. He felt like he could see and hear Aya’s dull, “Looking forward to it,” Aina’s faux-sweet, “Kai-kun, you’re on fire! Go for it! ♪” and even his own embarrassing, “I’ll give it my best shot,” all in third person.

Had it been because of Hifumi Tetsuma’s performance and the intensity of the lecture hall?

No.

Was it because he had been provoked by Kongouin Mirei’s taunting? Did he want to prove his own worth?

No, again.

It would have been nice if he’d had a reason like that; he’d feel like the main character of a shounen manga.

...It’s Nanaka.

In the end, that was the only reason. The brilliant smile that accompanied Nanaka’s clear and simple solution—if you haven’t done it before, all you can do is try—gave Kai a push on the back... and also tangled his feet in a vine of anxiety.

Those who can go ahead and take the first step, no matter how small, are strong. Planners, programmers, designers—regardless of profession, those who became capable (as opposed to those who were capable) were always those who gave things a try.

If they came across a wall, they’d try and climb it. If they came across a pit with no bottom in sight, they’d go ahead and jump in. And if they failed, they’d come home from their venture with something new. That something would become their sustenance, and the next time they’d climb higher and dive deeper.

Over and over, they’d continue this process until one day they couldn’t be seen anymore. By the time Kai thought to chase after them, it was too late. Every step he’d take would equal two or three of theirs, and the gap between them would only widen at an ever-accelerating pace. It wouldn’t be possible for him to catch up.

Kai had a hunch. Ever since that day, he’d had a hunch that Nanaka would eventually reach that place. And at this rate, she’d continue to do so far, far away. They were walking together for now, but that was only for now. Their school and club happened to be the same. That was it.

Talent was radiance; radiance was light; light was overwhelmingly blinding... and fast. Kai had seen talent zip past him countless times. He’d catch the instant they flashed their brilliance, and by the time he noticed their brightness, it was too late—the distance between them would be insurmountable.

At some point, he thought, I should rise up to the challenge like they do, but it was impossible. He couldn’t help but think about trouble, risk, calculations, recklessness, ability, experience, effort, disappointment, talent... The reasons to not start were infinite.

That ‘go ahead’ simply wasn’t possible for Kai. He couldn’t help but to look before he went ahead and leapt. At one point, he seriously considered the idea that his only talent was hesitation.

But he hated that. He wanted to be someone who could stand beside her.

Kai knew what he had to do; all he could do was jump in. The truth was that Nanaka wasn’t alone—Kai had no experience with development competitions, either. He was inexperienced, so he couldn’t hide his uncertainty. There was a real fear that he wouldn’t be able to create a proper plan even with two days, and that everyone would be disappointed in him.

Still, he wanted to show himself that he, too, could take that step forward. Was there any reason lamer than his?

“Um, well... see you?” Nanaka said her goodbyes with a worried look as the group dispersed at the station. Instead of heading for the exit and home, Kai headed for the south gate. He crossed the wide walkway that crossed over the train tracks and made his way down the stairs to the entrance of a large bookstore.

This was the biggest bookstore he knew of within walking distance of his house. The shop was split into two floors, and there was an escalator right by the entrance that connected to the basement. Kai had been fond of the place ever since Misako had introduced the location to him. It had a pleasantly quiet atmosphere, perhaps partially owing to the fact that it was located underground.

The technical writings were stored on the basement floor, so Kai went straight to the escalator and headed to his destination. There were a few titles that seemed useful, but his wallet wasn’t fat enough to purchase more than a couple. Besides, he only had two days. There wasn’t enough time to read them all. Instead, he reached out for the one that he had set his mind on beforehand.

“Are you seriously starting over from the most basic of the basics now?” a clear voice called out to him. It was especially distinct as it cut through the silence of the store.

“...Aina-san,” he acknowledged.

“Of course. From what I could find, you didn’t have any history of participating in development competitions at Tsukigase, after all. Or rather, I’m sure you didn’t have the leeway to.” Aina’s footsteps echoed across the quiet floor as she made her way over to Kai and peeked into the book he had chosen. “And? Are you learning from scratch?”

“Th-This is, well—”

“What are you panicking for?” she demanded to know. “Is this that scandalous?”

“...I didn’t mean to lie about anything,” he mumbled.

“Look,” she said, and ran her hand through her hair in annoyance. “Geez, I hate all this dawdling over nothing. I’m telling you, it’s fine. If you want to try and do it yourself, then go for it. Or is someone gonna die because of you?”

“No, that won’t—”

“Then it’s fine. Do your own thing until you’re satisfied. That old baldie said that our output is everything, so if your work leads to a good product, then it’s fine... If he really only judges us on our output, that’d be perfect.”

“Th-That’s true,” he agreed, “but...” If that’s the case, why did you follow me?

“Well, it’s not like you’ll make anything good after reading one book, and it’s not like you’d make something good even if you had experience, and your whole ‘I’m gonna study hard and do my best, ♪’ stick-in-the-mud mentality doesn’t give me any hope for a fun proposal.”

“............Right.” Kai’s reply was quieter than a mosquito’s buzzing. He couldn’t tell if Aina was rooting for him or kicking him while he was down.

“Anyway, I couldn’t care less about you,” she told him dismissively.

“Couldn’t care less...”

“Why haven’t you asked me anything?” Aina asked, and shot him a solemn, piercing glare.

Kai retracted his hand from the bookshelf (where it had been frozen this entire time) and turned to face her. “Me, ask you?”

“...You’re not feigning ignorance, are you?”

“Not at all.” Kai had no clue what she was talking about. Did I do something to offend her? He scrambled to sort through the day’s events, but nothing came to mind. In fact, he had spent the entire day worrying about himself, so he didn’t have the spare time to think about anyone else.

A deep sigh pulled him out of his thoughts. With an exasperated look on her face, Aina said, “...I’ve had enough. Everything I say here is just me talking to myself, so shut up and listen. All that stuff the blonde Kongouin brat was prattling on about had to do with my past. I’m not doing it anymore, but I used to be a child actress. That’s what she was talking about. And, since we went to the same middle school, Nanaka and Eru already know... and judging from Aya’s reaction, she already knew, too. I used my real name back then, so everything comes right up with an online search. Nothing I can do about it now.”

Now that she mentioned it, Kai did indeed recall an exchange like that taking place. His epiphany must have shown on his face, because Aina let out another deep sigh.

“I’m not even on your radar, am I...? That pisses me off in its own way. Are you and Nanaka-chan really not dating?”

“...Th-There’s no way—”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. I’m done here. That reaction’s enough for me. Anyway, good luck.” Aina waved her hand to signal that their conversation was finished. However, as she turned heel to leave, she suddenly stopped with an, “Oh...” and glanced over her shoulder. She pointed cutely at her lips and sang, “If your plan uses my voice, I’m behind you, no questions asked. Buh-bye! ♪”

Aina shot him a mischievous smile, like a demon tempting him to darkness. And then, this time, she was truly gone.

◇

There was no time for hesitation, so Kai quickly made his purchase and left the bookstore. He returned through the walkway and headed out his usual exit, stopping by the convenience store to grab an instant dinner on his way home. That, and a handful of chocolates. When he inevitably found himself stuck, the sweets would be an easy way to replenish his energy.

Kai arrived home at 6:00 pm. He finished bathing in 15 minutes and spent another 15 eating cup ramen. From 6:30, he spent two straight hours reading the book he’d bought from start to finish.

Though he lacked experience with development competitions, he already knew how to write a project proposal. Akane had drilled all the basics into him when he was at Tsukigase. Still, he hadn’t done so in a long while, so he was worried that he might have forgotten how to do it. The book he had chosen only had information he already knew, but it was a perfect refresher to put his thoughts into order.

In short, there was no correct answer when it came to proposals. However, there were essential elements that needed to be present. This seemed contradictory, but it was the truth. First, there was no absolute standard that dictated, ‘This is how a proposal must be written,’ so the contents and formatting varied in countless ways. Frankly, it was a means by which the planner expressed themselves.

That being said, game development was a group effort. No one would be able to act without understanding what kind of game they were making. Thus, that expression was an essential element.

Kai carefully pulled the memories of his lessons with Akane out of a treasure box in his mind, one by one, and stopped to ruminate on them.

◇

“Shiraseki, start with five pages.”

“Only five pages?”

“As a rule, assume that your reader has absolutely no expectations of you,” Akane told him. “Do you have confidence that you can hand someone a thick stack of papers, tens of pages long, and maintain their attention throughout?”

“...No.”

“Cover page; concept; target; selling point; gameplay. These are the topics needed to begin a project proposal.”

“Th-That’s all?”

“You do not seem to believe me. That will correct itself as I explain. First, we have the cover page. Shiraseki, were you surprised that I included the cover among the five pages?”

“...I was,” he admitted.

“Let me return to my initial explanation. Shiraseki, we assume the person who will read your document has no expectations. In this scenario, what will they think when they see a blank white page cover with a poorly typeset title in Gothic typeface?”

“They... wouldn’t even think to turn the page.”

“Exactly. Consequently, the quality of the cover page is critical. If possible, you should go as far as to recruit a designer to create an appealing front cover. The next topic is ‘concept,’ but... this one is intimately related to the ‘target’ and ‘selling point’ that follow. There are many instructional manuals that insist on the importance of these topics, and as a result, many people tend to think of them separately.

“...I’m sorry, what do you mean?”

“Let me begin by explaining the three of them in simple terms,” she suggested. “I will return to their individual details later on.

“The concept refers to the objective of the game. What kind of game will it be? It needs to explain that to the reader. Any inaccuracy here will cause inaccuracies throughout your proposal.

“The target is just as the label suggests: who is this game for? It is your job to hypothesize on that. An error here, and your game will never reach anyone.

“Lastly, the selling point is the hook of the game. Some refer to this as ‘benefits’ or ‘advantages,’ but ultimately, it does not matter so long as you are able to explain why the end user would appreciate your proposal. Without this, no one will so much as look your way... Do you understand, Shiraseki?”

“Yes,” he affirmed. “I’ve heard of these concepts before, so I’m following.”

“...Is that so? Then let us continue with an example,” Akane decided. “Shiraseki, say you were to develop a game that utilized your smartphone’s GPS functionality. Imagine the selling point is ‘By taking gaming outdoors, you can get in shape while having fun.’ Who would be your target audience? Try to give me as concrete an answer as you can.”

“...Would it be people who have sedentary hobbies, like reading or film watching?” he suggested.

“Is that all?”

“...Maybe we could also consider people who get light exercise in the form of walking or window shopping, but lack any athletic hobbies such as sports.”

“I see. Let us say that we managed to pare the target down to your first suggestion. The concept and gameplay would need to be more potent than any adversarial content. Should you choose to target those who prefer the indoors, you will need suitable appeal to match.”

“That means... if the game is less fun than a book or a movie, then no one will play it.”

“Precisely. On the other hand, your second suggestion lowers the hurdle. If the game is meant to be played with one hand while shopping, a casual concept and gameplay loop may fit the project better... However, trouble may arise if you decide on each section without considering the others. In an extreme case, you may find that your target audience is the elderly, but your concept would only ever be popular among young people.”

“...I see.”

“Still, there is no need to overthink things,” Akane advised him. “You can begin thinking about the concept, target, and selling point from any of these subjects. If your target is middle and high schoolers but your concept is something as unpopular as studying, you will naturally need an exceptional selling point to overcome that. So long as you do not stubbornly solidify your plans early, these three points will come together as a matter of course.”

“Understood.”

“Lastly, we have the gameplay. Allow me to warn you in advance: Shiraseki, a page is enough. How would this game be enjoyed? What kind of gameplay loop are you anticipating? All you need to do is convey the most appealing core principles of your game. Statements such as ‘We have subquests; we have missions; we have PvP,’ that explain every detail are inane. All you need is one. Show them the nucleus of your game. Not only will a list of features fail to convey anything, it may even deliver a message you should never send.”

“A message you should never send...?” he echoed.

“—Anxiety, transmits... Confidence, Shiraseki. A proposal embellished with this and that will appear lost. Three arrows are too much. Draw the bow until your absolute limit, and let fly a single, true arrow.”

◇

Looking back now, Kai could finally understand that what Akane had taught him was indeed fundamental. There were also parts that she had intentionally glossed over. For example, at the industry level, there needed to be a section on ‘monetization’ so that the company could turn a profit.

However, this time there was no need to do so. The lessons he’d learned from Akane were plenty, and those lessons had taken root as knowledge within Kai’s brain.

He knew what he had to do. He knew... but nothing came to mind. The time passed in an instant, and it was already midnight. The PowerPoint on his laptop screen was snow white. He had nothing.

“...How am I supposed to be confident like this?” Kai said to no one in particular. He was simply rebutting his own memories as he mumbled to himself.

It felt like the middle of his body had been scooped out, leaving a clean cavity from end to end. He was empty.

Nanaka and Eru had an intense passion for drawing. Aya had her strange attachment to the gacha. Kai could sense that Aina had remarkable will in her dream of becoming a voice actress. What about him? He just liked social games. He happened to stumble into this world on Akane’s invitation. He put everything he had into meeting her expectations, and now... here he was.

Do I have anything like the others? Kai wanted to beat his own chest, but had a feeling that an empty sound would echo out. He was too scared to try.

What do I want to make? Maybe that’s why I can’t think of anything.

Because my answer is blank.

“...This is no good,” he said aloud, and slapped his hands against his face with a bit too much force. He rode that momentum to stand up and head to the powder room, where he washed his reddened cheeks with cold water.

Whining and worrying wouldn’t get him anywhere. For the time being, he needed to come up with ideas—anything would do.

Kai pushed his laptop back and opened up a notebook. In the center of a blank page, he wrote the topics ‘Character’ and ‘Breath.’ Then, he surrounded them with anything he could think of relating to those themes.

The sound of his pen scribbling on paper made him feel like he was doing something, and he managed to calm down, ever so slightly.