"What's going on. It hurts like hell. My head feels like it's being split open with a rusty axe," Jason complained bitterly, as he painfully rubbed his throbbing temples. He shuddered as he slowly propped himself up against the wrinkled pillows.
Tentatively, he tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt heavy. Using his fingertips, he carefully rubbed until he managed to pry his eyelids with some effort.
The moment his bloodshot eyes focused on his surroundings, Jason's entire body went rigid with shock, his hangover was momentarily forgotten in the surge of adrenaline that gushed through his veins.
"Damn... where in the world is this...?" He whispered hoarsely, his heart hammering against his ribs like a desperate prisoner.
The unfamiliar walls with abstract paintings he'd never seen before, the sleek modern furniture arranged in a layout he couldn't recognize, and the peculiar scent hanging in the air, everything was utterly foreign to him.
Before he could even begin to process his strange environment or recall how he'd ended up here, an overwhelming torrent of memories—memories that weren't his own—began pouring into his consciousness like a dam bursting open.
The flood of unknown memories was so intense that Jason clutched his head and curled into a ball, gritting his teeth as unfamiliar faces, places, and experiences flooded his mind. Each new memory brought with it not just visual impressions but associated emotions, sensations, and knowledge that tried to drown his sense of self.
Approximately an hour later though it felt like an eternity, Jason finally succeeded in sorting through the chaotic memories that had invaded his mind. The things that emerged from this mental turmoil was extraordinary:
He, Jason Williams, a thirty-two-year-old game designer at a mid-tier development studio in Seattle, living a thoroughly ordinary life in his previous life had not just died and reincarnated, but had somehow crossed the boundaries between universes and crossed over into a parallel world with its own different history and development.
According to the organized memories he now possessed, memories belonging to this world's version of himself, something catastrophic had occurred at a critical juncture in this world's timeline, creating a butterfly effect that resulted in a reality historically different from the one Jason had known.
The country he now found himself in wasn't any recognizable nation from his original world but rather a big culturally diverse nation roughly equivalent in size to the United States.
It appeared to be a fascinating union of various Asian countries—
Japanese architectural aesthetics in its urban centers, Korean technological innovation in its infrastructure, Chinese philosophical foundations in its educational system, Indonesian artistic expressions in its public spaces.
Vietnamese culinary traditions in its food culture, and Filipino community structures within its social interactions. This cultural melting pot had emerged in the aftermath of this world's version of a global conflict similar to the World War that had redrawn boundaries and forced unprecedented cultural exchange.
Every major industry had undergone radical transformation due to technological breakthroughs that had followed different evolutionary paths than in Jason's original reality.
The divergence in technological development was so high that even everyday objects looked subtly different as he could remember from the ergonomic design of furniture to the holographic displays that had replaced traditional screens in many households.
Though Jason struggled to fully understand or explain the exact magnitude of these societal and technological shifts, what struck him most was the drastically altered gaming and entertainment industry—his professional field in his previous life.
In this post-war world that had not only embraced but established peace through global initiatives and technological safeguards, scientific advancement had flourished at an exponential rate that would have seemed miraculous in Jason's former reality.
The persistent problems that had plagued his previous world famine in developing nations, incurable diseases that devastated communities, energy crises were essentially resolved issues here, relegated to historical textbooks rather than daily news headlines.
The global economy had recovered from the worldwide conflict with astonishing speed, creating unprecedented prosperity across socioeconomic divisions.
With the essential concerns of survival largely addressed and disposable income becoming abundant even among middle-class citizens, the entertainment industry had naturally emerged as a primary direction for economic growth and cultural expression.
The gaming sector represented perhaps the most dramatic change from Jason's previous world. In his previous world, video games had long been treated with suspicion and hostility by mainstream society becoming convenient scapegoats for societal evils and easy targets for moral entrepreneurs seeking simple explanations for complex problems.
When mass shooting incidents occurred rather than addressing the spread of firearms or the systemic failures in mental healthcare, politicians and pundits would point fingers at violent video games as the corrupting influence.
So instead of implementing sensible gun control measures or removing weapons of war from department store shelves, they advocated for censorship and restriction of creative media—attacking the imaginary violence in games rather than the real instruments of death easily available in shopping centers.
But in this parallel world, the cultural perception of gaming had evolved along an entirely different trajectory. Here, exceptional video games were not just tolerated but celebrated as valid artistic achievements on par with acclaimed films, novels, or music and symphonies.
Elite game designers were given the same social prestige and professional respect as renowned authors, famous filmmakers, or visionary architects. Their creations were analyzed in university courses, presented in prestigious museums, and discussed in intellectual circles with the same seriousness given to classical literature.
Yet there was one particularly striking difference that Jason found both bewildering and exhilarating as he continued exploring the memories of his in this world.
In the gaming field, the titans that had dominated the industry in Jason's world like Ubisoft, Electronic Arts, Activision Blizzard, and others simply did not exist. They had been replaced by companies bearing unfamiliar names that Jason had never encountered: Nebula Interactive, Chrysalis Studios, Horizon Dynamics, Eclipse Gaming Collective, and dozens more that had apparently risen to prominence through very different historical circumstances.
Even more astonishingly, as Jason scrutinized through his new memories and the information available on this world's version of the internet, he discovered that not a single one of the legendary game creators from his original world had any similar person here.
As for Jason himself, he discovered that in this reality, he was not a game designer but rather a twenty-four-year-old recent graduate with a degree in visual arts who harbored aspirations of breaking into the competitive manga industry in the Japanese district of this multicultural nation.
"This world..." Jason whispered, his voice trembling with growing excitement as he continued absorbing information through his memories and additional research on the sleek, holographic computer terminal on his desk, "is truly heaven for me!"
The legal contexts and copyright protections established for creative and entertainment products in this reality were strong and complete in ways that would have seemed utopian in Jason's previous world.
Independent creators were shielded from exploitation by large corporations through rigorous enforcement mechanisms, and intellectual property theft was treated as a serious offense with large penalties rather than a minor violation often overlooked by overworked judicial systems.
"Illustrations, huh?" Jason murmured thoughtfully, his gaze drifting to a stack of drawing papers scattered across the surface of his drafting table.
They were various illustrations his pre-transmigration self-had worked over showing technical competence but lacking the distinctive style or emotional resonance that would set them apart in a highly competitive field.
After graduating six months before Jason's consciousness had arrived, his original self had pursued his dream of becoming a professional manga artist with determined persistence. He had developed storylines, created character designs, and perfected his understanding of sequential art storytelling techniques.
Unfortunately, despite submitting his portfolio and sample chapters to numerous publishing houses and editorial departments, he had consistently faced rejection. His work had been considered competent but unoriginal, lacking the unique spark or commercial viability that editors sought in new talent.
Undeterred by these professional setbacks, he had begun serializing some of his manga creations on various online platforms, hoping to build a following that might eventually attract industry attention. However, these efforts had very low success, his works gained small viewership and occasional positive comments but never achieved the viral momentum needed to stand out in the market.
To maintain financial stability while pursuing his artistic ambitions, he had supplemented his meager income from online manga serialization by accepting freelance commissions by producing character illustrations for aspiring novelists, creating concept art for smaller gaming studios, designing marketing materials for local businesses, and occasionally teaching basic drawing classes at community centers.
Without significant name recognition and possessing technical skills that varied in quality depending on the specific requirements of each commission, he typically charged approximately 900 Asiara (about 180USD as the standard currency in this country; roughly 1USD is equal to 5asiara ) per illustration.
This rate often came with the added challenge of dealing with particularly demanding clients who requested multiple revisions without additional compensation, forcing him to invest far more time than the fee justified.
"Manga? I don't know much about that either!" Jason muttered, pursing his lips in frustration as he continued sifting through his memories.
Although the original owner's memories provided Jason with knowledge of various drawing techniques that theoretical understanding wasn't particularly useful without the years of practical experience needed to develop true mastery.
After all, his original self had been forced in producing freelance illustrations mainly as a means of survival.
As for the manga from his previous life, Jason had certainly heard of legendary titles like One Piece, Bleach, Naruto and Detective Conan. But when it came to actually reading those works in their original Manga?
Jason whispered to himself, "I only watched the anime when they were on streaming services. How could I possibly know the techniques required to create those mangas? The pacing, panel composition, dialogue placement, tonal balance—I'm completely ignorant about that."
"Looking at my situation, it seems I'll have to go back to my former profession in game development," Jason decided after carefully assessing his options.
He clicked his tongue appreciatively as he discovered more about the technological infrastructure supporting game creation in this world. "And impressively, the game development efficiency in this reality is significantly more advanced than what I'm accustomed to!"
Unlike his previous world, where each gaming company closely guarded their exclusive game engines, the approach in this reality was very different. While Big companies still largely stick to the model of developing exclusive technology, the small and medium sized companies operated under a more collaborative framework.
In many nations, standardized game engines were officially provided through a central technological authority, allowing creators to focus on content rather than reinventing technical infrastructure with each new project.
These standardized tools were regularly updated with cutting-edge features and optimizations based on industry feedback and technological breakthroughs.
Additionally, as any experienced developer would acknowledge, game production covers numerous specialized aspects like numerical balance requiring mathematical precision, artistic assets demanding aesthetic sensibility, narrative development requiring storytelling skills, level design needing psychological understanding of player engagement, and coding with technical expertise.
But the most fundamental and crucial aspect had always been the code itself—the invisible architecture that determined how efficiently a game would run, how responsive it would feel, and whether the player's experience would be seamless or frustrating. The code served as the skeletal structure upon which all other elements depended.
No matter how innovative your gameplay mechanics might be, how stunning your visual design, or how compelling your narrative—if the underlying code was inefficient or riddled with bugs, the game was essentially condemned to failure before it reached players' hands.
However, in this parallel world, due to unprecedented advancements in information technology, artificial intelligence had evolved far beyond the AIs of Jason's original reality. These AI had been integrated across virtually every industry, with gaming being among the sectors most vividly transformed by their implementation.
Game mechanics, command structures, optimization protocols, and other coding elements were now implemented through official game engines utilizing specialized AI systems designed specifically for game development.
Programmers could describe desired functionality in natural language or through visual interfaces, and the AI would generate optimized code that integrated seamlessly with existing systems.
This revolutionary approach had completely eliminated the notorious "crunch time" that had plagued development studios in Jason's previous world, where programmers were often figuratively (and sometimes literally) "sacrificed" on the altar of project deadlines—working inhumane hours that led to burnout, health problems, and personal relationship collapse.
Convenient as these technological marvels were, access to them was carefully regulated rather than universally available. After all, employing AI for sophisticated code construction required enormous computational resources that couldn't be provided without limitation.
Consequently, each certified game designer was allocated fixed computational resources each month based on their professional classification and past achievements. These allocations determined how many complex features they could implement or how ambitious their projects could be within each development cycle.
For those requiring additional resources, it was possible to construct and maintain private computation servers for individual use, requiring only licensing fees rather than purchasing the proprietary AI systems themselves. However, building and maintaining such infrastructure was a huge investment that remained too expensive for most independent developers.
As for the process of becoming a recognized game designer in this society, there were three established pathways to professional certification.
The first and most prestigious route was to participate in the International Gaming Department's annual summer examination—a assessment of creative vision, technical understanding, player psychology comprehension, and project management aptitude. Candidates who successfully passed this competitive evaluation would earn an official game designer certification, opening doors to resource allocations and professional opportunities.
The second path involved joining an established gaming company in an entry-level position, contributing to projects for two to three years to gain practical experience, and then applying through corporate channels to the Gaming Department for designer certification. This apprenticeship model ensured that candidates developed an inclusive understanding of the development process before taking on design responsibilities.
The final approach provided an opportunity for gaming enthusiasts without formal professional backgrounds to prove their talent through demonstrated results rather than credentials.
By creating an independent game that achieved market recognition from players—evidenced either by reaching sales of 100,000 units or accumulating at least 3,000 user reviews with an average player rating above 8.0 on a 10-point scale—aspiring designers could earn certification based on merit rather than traditional qualifications.
Remarkably, artificially inflating sales figures or manipulating review scores was essentially impossible in this system. Such actions constituted serious violations of industry regulations and were subject to severe penalties, including permanent disqualification from certification, substantial financial fines, and even criminal charges in extreme cases of fraud.
"The system appears highly regulated, but at least obtaining a game designer certification shouldn't pose much difficulty for me," Jason concluded, thoughtfully stroking his chin as he considered the possibilities.
After all, unlike other aspiring designers in this world, Jason possessed an extraordinary asset—the accumulated knowledge of countless pioneering creators from the gaming industry of his original reality.
While Jason hadn't immediately set his sights on developing ambitious AAA titles, he felt confident in his ability to create successful indie games that could establish his reputation in this new reality.
"Wait, what's this?" While deeply engaged in formulating his strategic plan, Jason suddenly noticed something unusual that interrupted his train of thought.
On the back of his hand was a semi-transparent blue spherical mark.
Jason rubbed his fingers over it, and suddenly a transparent UI window popped up.
"A system?"
The word immediately sprang to mind.
Thinking about it carefully, having already transmigrated, receiving a system didn't seem too excessive.
However, as the interface fully materialized and its features became clear, the name of this mysterious system appeared in golden lettering at the top of the display:
[Game Development System]
Examining the brightly decorated UI interface like that of the flashy, over-animated advertisements for predatory free-to-play browser games that had plagued the internet in his previous life, Jason's initial excitement gradually became filled with skeptical thoughts.
The interface was so excessively embellished with sparkles, color gradients, and unnecessary visual glares that he couldn't help but feel a growing suspicion that this wasn't going to be the type of serious, world-conquering system he might have hoped for.
Instead, it gave off the impression of something designed with questionable taste and uncertain functionality.