"...So, this is your pitch? Cat Leo?"
Conference room, WindyPeak Games Inc., 22nd floor, TechTower, Downtown Seattle.
As the lead interviewer for the game director position, Chief of Staff Chloe Quinn stared at the game proposal in her hands, then glanced at the young guy across from her in a faded Spider-Man hoodie.
Her tone dripped with skepticism.
She genuinely couldn't wrap her head around how this mess could be called a "game proposal."
The concept art on the cover page was downright wild—
The paper was laid out landscape-style, showing a level design ripped straight out of Super Mario Bros. But instead of a mustached plumber, the hero was an upright-walking cat with a smug, almost trollish grin.
The grass, pipes, and even the clouds were labeled "DANGER" in bold red marker. Arrows pointed everywhere, like the whole level was a gauntlet of traps waiting to punk this sassy cat at every turn.
The art style was so rough it practically screamed ironic.
Was this thing even designed by a human?
Chloe took another look at her laptop screen, her expression a mix of disbelief and pity.
Who in their right mind would play this game?!
"Let me double-check, Mr. Gus Shepard," Chloe said, taking a deep breath and closing the proposal with a thud. "You're telling me this is your game's concept art?"
"Yep, that's the vibe," the young guy across from her said, flashing an awkward but polite grin. "It's, uh... abstract."
…
His name was Gus Shepard, a time-traveler with a cheat-code system up his sleeve.
Three years ago, a freak accident had yeeted him into this parallel world, landing him as a freshman studying game design at Seattle Tech University.
In this world, tech was a smidge ahead of his old life—think slicker smartphones and fancier VR—but the gaming scene? Total snooze-fest. Games here were repetitive, cookie-cutter, and in the U.S., it was all about microtransaction-heavy mobile apps and soulless battle-royale clones. Creativity was on life support.
Gus's system, though, was built to dominate this untapped market—
[Game Vault System]
A points-based redemption system packed with the source code for every iconic game from his old world. Once activated, he could unleash masterpieces—the kind of games dubbed "ninth art"—and make them shine here.
But there was a catch. Two, actually:
[Condition 1: No publishing games before the system activates.]
[Condition 2: Land a director-level job at a game company during your senior-year internship.]
[Note: Both conditions must be met, or the system self-destructs.]
The first condition was a breeze—just keep his ideas under wraps.
The second? A nightmare.
A director job during his internship? That's like asking a college kid to step into the shoes of Shigeru Miyamoto or Tim Schafer. Game directors were legends, not fresh-faced grads. No company in their right mind would hand a student that kind of power—unless they were itching to go bankrupt.
Even a gaming god like Hideo Kojima couldn't waltz into a director gig straight out of school.
But the system didn't care. If Gus couldn't pull it off within his one-year internship window, the system would vanish. Poof. Gone.
So, Gus rolled the dice.
Just yesterday, his 100th job application finally got a bite. A studio called WindyPeak Games invited him for an interview today.
…
But the interview wasn't exactly going smoothly.
Gus eyed Chloe's unimpressed frown and sighed internally.
In this world, he was just a broke college kid. Sure, in his past life, he'd interned at a top-tier Japanese studio and worked as an assistant lead planner at a quirky indie outfit in Austin. He knew his stuff. But without resources or time, even a master chef can't whip up a gourmet dish with stale bread.
With the application deadline looming, Gus had thrown together Cat Leo—a chaotic, trap-filled platformer—as his interview project.
"It's... a little rough, I know," Gus said, trying to salvage the moment as Chloe stayed silent. "But the gameplay's solid. The traps keep players on edge, and every cleared level? Total dopamine rush."
Yeah, right, Chloe thought, barely stifling an eye-roll.
Dopamine rush? More like a rage-quit simulator. What kind of masochist would play this?
She sighed, ready to wrap this up and move on from this trainwreck of a candidate. "I'm sorry, Mr. Shepard," she said, offering a tight, professional smile. "Your... work doesn't quite meet the industry's baseline standards."
But before she could finish—
"So, I think you've got serious potential!" a bright, bubbly voice cut in.
Gus and Chloe both froze, turning toward the source.
At the head of the conference table sat a young woman, maybe 22 or 23, rocking a messy bun and a playful grin. She had the energy of a Pixar character—big eyes, round face, and a vibe that screamed "I'm here to shake things up."
Oh, right. Gus had almost forgotten about her.
This was Zoey Parker, the CEO of WindyPeak Games and the real decision-maker. She'd been so quiet earlier that Gus had half-written her off as a quirky figurehead.
But now? She'd dropped a bombshell.
Chloe blinked, clearly thrown. Potential? In this guy? What, the smirking cat? The death-trap pipes? The mushrooms that probably give you food poisoning?
No matter how you sliced it, Cat Leo didn't scream "future hit." If this game sold even a single copy, Chloe would eat her own keyboard.
But Zoey, unfazed by Chloe's shock, just grinned at Gus. "Mr. Shepard, you said you don't have any work experience, right?"
"Nope," Gus said, nodding. His past life didn't count here.
"No current projects?"
"Nada."
"No side gigs in the works?"
"Zilch."
"Perfect!" Zoey clapped her hands, standing up and extending one toward him. "WindyPeak's gonna be where you make your mark, Gus! Welcome aboard, Director Shepard!"
Wait, what?! Chloe's brain short-circuited as their hands met.
Is she out of her mind? Hiring this guy? For director?
But it was too late. As Gus shook Zoey's hand, a sharp ding echoed in his head—
[Congratulations! You've secured a Director position. The Game Vault System is now active!]
[From now on, the system will collect players' emotional points to unlock new games. The higher the sales, the faster the points roll in!]
Gus could barely hold back a grin. This actually worked?
It was absurd. Zoey Parker was either a mad genius or his guardian angel.
What he didn't know was that, as his system came online, another ding sounded in Zoey's mind—
[Ding! Manager binding successful. Investment Rebate System activated!]
[From now on, any project losses under the host's management will be reimbursed with 10x profits!]