As the workday was ending, Ichin saved and closed the game, putting down his controller.
Stretching his neck, he commented, "So far, it's not bad. I'd give it a 75 out of 100."
"Only 75?" Utaha tilted her head. "You looked so focused while playing, I thought you'd rate it higher."
"Well, the pros and cons are both obvious. The open-world flaws weren't well covered up, so 75 is already a fair score. Come on, time to go home."
He shut down the computer, and together with Utaha, left the office—reminding others that they could wrap up too.
At their company, overtime was never forced. As long as employees finished their tasks, they could leave. Over time, everyone naturally grew used to leaving on time, unless they had a bit of unfinished work they wanted to clear up.
After driving home, they had dinner at Utaha's parents' place, then returned to their own apartment and got to their university homework.
Although university was more relaxed in schedule compared to high school, the coursework was undeniably more difficult. Even for Ichin and Utaha, it required focused effort.
Homework done, a shower taken—it was already close to 11.
Heating up two cups of milk, Ichin handed one to Utaha, then sat on the couch. "Tired? How about an early night today?"
Utaha nodded. "Mm, that sounds good. Though… Ichin, aren't you going to play more games?"
"The game isn't going anywhere. No rush."
After a sip of milk, Ichin opened Bilibili on his phone and browsed the single-player streaming section. Quite a few were still streaming Persona.
Even after a month since release, the hype hadn't faded.
As a massive RPG that took dozens of hours to clear just once, its main story was perfect for streamers.
The only downside: streams might cut into sales. But Ichin wasn't worried—sales were already excellent, and compared to the game's viral reach among players, that little bit of lost revenue hardly mattered.
Fast streamers had already finished it within a week or so, while others were digging deep—doing multiple playthroughs, aiming for perfect clears.
Ichin watched a while, sipping his milk, then went to bed with Utaha.
Lights off, lying under the blankets, Utaha yawned softly and leaned against him. "Ichin, do you think Dark Souls can be finished within a year and a half?"
"It should be," Ichin nodded. "The BattleBlock Theater team will finish in six months, then merge into Persona's team. I don't plan to expand headcount too much. With too many people, management gets messy. The current size is about right."
For large projects, Ichin aimed to keep team size under 200. That was already massive compared to when they developed Hollow Knight with just ten people. Even now, BattleBlock Theater's team had only thirty-five.
That was more than enough—its art style was consistent and easy once mastered, with level design being the main challenge.
Dark Souls, though, had far tougher demands: world design, combat system, and massive boss battles.
"Having more people doesn't always mean better," Ichin explained. "Take Ubisoft. Thousands of staff spread across global studios. Without tight coordination, development rhythm falls apart. The result? Their games are usually passable, but quality varies wildly between different parts of the same game. That's the cost of bloated, scattered teams."
That's why for Titanfall, Ichin didn't repeat what he'd done with Persona—where multiple studios collaborated. Even if coordination was nearly flawless, he now kept each studio responsible for its own game. Umiko had even been sent to Shanghai as lead programmer.
Utaha shook her head. "Sounds way too complicated. I don't think I'm cut out for management."
Ichin laughed, pulling her into his arms. "You don't need to be. Just keep doing what you love. Alright, time to sleep."
"Mm. Good night, Ichin."
"Good night, Utaha."
...
After Umiko settled in Shanghai, she rested for two days before heading to the studio to begin development.
For the first few planning meetings, Ichin attended remotely.
Though present, he mostly listened, watching how the new team gelled in early planning.
After several sessions, he felt reassured. The local lead had experience at major overseas companies as well as domestic studios. Things looked promising.
And Umiko herself was blending in fine. Though cool in personality, her professionalism spoke for itself.
---
That afternoon, 4 p.m., meeting room.
Ichin gathered the art team to review recent character and monster designs.
Lesser enemies—gravediggers, peasants, dogs—needed no discussion. The focus was knights and large-scale monsters.
Connecting his laptop to the projector, Ichin brought up a newly revised 3D model of the Lothric Knight.
"This one I roughly drafted during testing," he explained, "but Aoba reworked it from scratch. Looks good. Remember—the world I designed isn't shiny and new. Knight armor shouldn't gleam; it should look worn, rusted, scarred. Same goes for other enemies—keep designs true to the world's tone. Of course, for specific female characters I've requested, don't make them too grotesque."
With that, he clicked to Momiji's design sketch—the Fire Keeper.
*