The success of the game brought something unexpected: attention.
Not from the general public, but from other developers.
Letters began arriving at the office.Some were polite, expressing admiration.Others were more direct, asking questions about the development process, the engine, even the music.
Kisaragi read each one aloud during the morning meeting.
–"They want to know how we handled the AI," – he said.–"And the map design," Mori added.
At first, we ignored them.We didn't have time.We barely had time for our current projects.
But the requests didn't stop.They multiplied.And slowly, the office changed.
New faces appeared.Young programmers, artists, and musicians curious about what we had done.They didn't come with contracts or high salaries.They came with notebooks, pencils, and questions.
One of them, a tall boy with glasses, asked something that surprised everyone.
–"Do you need help with world design?"
I looked at him.I didn't expect anyone to notice such details.
–"Yes," I said after a pause.–"Actually… we do."
It wasn't organized.There was no recruitment process, no plan.It was chaotic.But it worked.
The office became noisier.Not the usual chatter of bored employees, but the kind of noise that meant ideas were moving.Paper shuffled.Keyboards clicked.Conversations overlapped.
For the first time, I felt the world of the game and the real world overlapping.The boundaries weren't clear anymore.We built together.We argued.We learned.
Kisaragi observed from his corner.He didn't intervene much.He only smiled occasionally, satisfied.
One night, I stayed longer than the others.The lights of the city outside were dim, like a forgotten painting.I looked at the notes, sketches, and maps scattered on my desk.
–"This is getting bigger than I imagined," I muttered.
And I realized something:I didn't want it to stop.
Not because of the company.Not even because of the game.But because I had found a place where I belonged.
A place where the world didn't seem so heavy.Where trying, failing, and trying again mattered.
And for the first time, I didn't fear the future.
I feared nothing.
Because I had learned to move forward, even without knowing what awaited me.