Sitting in the cool blue light of his computer monitor, Jason leaned back in his creaking chair, fingers interlaced behind his head as he stared thoughtfully at the ceiling.
The gentle hum of his computer's cooling fans provided a soothing white noise in the background as he processed everything he had learned. After hours of intense research and careful consideration, he had developed a reasonably complete understanding of his current situation and the path forward.
The gaming industry—that was clearly the direction he was aiming for.
However, though he had decisively committed to making games. It wasn't going to be nearly as straightforward as simply deciding to create a game and watching it emerge in front of him.
Despite this world's impressively advanced technology that mercifully eliminated the need to build code architecture from the ground up—a blessing that would have saved countless development hours in his previous world—numerous essential elements remained absolutely indispensable.
Moreover, Jason's current situation was rather awkward—perhaps even pitiable when examined objectively.
First and more importantly, he didn't have an official game designer title or certification in this world, which meant the development resources he could access through the engine platform were severely restricted. The verification system required either academic credentials or industry experience—neither of which he could claim in this reality.
Without proper credentials, many premium assets, advanced tools, and optimization features remained out of reach behind locked sections of the development platform.
Although Jason estimated that these limited resources would likely be sufficient for creating classic small independent games comparable to indie titles from his previous world that had achieved modest success despite modest development resources—there was another critical issue that appeared even greater than technical constraints: he didn't have much money.
After all, he had only graduated from university relatively recently in this timeline, his diploma in digital arts was still fresh and barely creased. Even though he had prudently chosen to live in the more affordable outskirts rather than the expensive central districts of the megalopolis known as Niigata City, the cost of living remained astonishingly high.
Rent ate the majority of his monthly income, utilities claimed another significant portion, and daily necessities consumed much of what remained. Through disciplined frugality and occasional freelance illustration work, he had managed to save a little over 1,400 USD so far, given the exchange rate of 5 Asiara to 1 USD.
The mysterious lottery system, his supposed "cheat ability" could be temporarily set aside from his immediate planning. For all its potential, it required him to actually create and release original creative works to collect the emotional points necessary for additional draws.
Without completed projects generating emotional responses from consumers, the system would remain dormant.
Besides, much to his disappointment after thoroughly exploring its interface, it didn't offer any form of monetary exchange function either—no option to convert accumulated emotion points directly into this world's currency.
"How utterly ruthless!" he muttered under his breath, drumming his fingers against his desk in mild frustration. "Not even a desperate exchange rate for emergencies."
"I need to find a feasible way to make money—and quickly," Jason thought determinedly, absently rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger.
For another few hours, he searched online for various information about the gaming industry in this parallel world while simultaneously brainstorming potential game concepts that could be realistically executed with his limited resources.
However, after eventually exiting the jumble of web pages and industry forums, Jason's weary gaze fell upon a previously unnoticed folder on his desktop labeled simply "Commission Work."
Something about it triggered a spark of recognition in his mind. Curious, he double-clicked the folder icon, and as its contents filled the screen, Jason's exhausted eyes suddenly widened with energy, a glimmer of excitement replacing the fatigue that had been accumulating throughout the day.
The folder contained more than ten organized, fully colored comic strips, each stored in its own subfolder with original sketches, line art, and multiple stages of the coloring process preserved as separate files.
Clicking through the preview thumbnails, he observed that the content featured a group of t young women in somewhat revealing clothes.
Despite the undeniably provocative nature of some of the character designs, the overall storyline maintained a surprisingly wholesome and positive tone. Rather than exploiting the characters for just visual appeal, the narrative genuinely focused on their competitive spirit, and determination.
According to the memories he had inherited, these comic strips weren't originally drawn by him but had been entrusted to him by Izumi Nakamura, a talented senior from the same university's art department. She had provided the sketches and line art, seeking his assistance with coloring and finishing touches for an upcoming indie comic convention.
Though they were not necessarily for 'Comics'.
Staring at these vibrant, spirit-lifting comic strips, Jason slowly nodded to himself as a plan began to form in his mind. He now had an idea for his first passion 'ahem' money-making project.
A match-three puzzle game featuring beautiful girls that players had loved in his previous world: "HuniePop."
In his previous world, "HuniePop" had been one of the most acclaimed dating-sim puzzle games of 2015. By mid-2015, it had accumulated over 24,000 user reviews on Steam, 96 % of which were positive (approximately 23,000 positives vs. 1,000 negative).
Upon its release on January 19, 2015, it quickly rose through Steam's bestselling ranks and maintained a Top 100 position for several weeks.
Even among those roughly 1,000 negative reviews, many were tongue-in-cheek posts from the community—players joking that the dating-sim mechanics were "too unrealistic" while still praising the rest of the experience.
The reasoning behind choosing this particular game for recreation in this new world was quite simple.
On one hand, the game's visual style involved practically no three-dimensional modeling—everything was rendered in crisp, hand-drawn two-dimensional art, precisely the style that aligned with Jason's artistic skills.
On the other hand, most of the game's content could be produced by Jason himself given his skill set.
Furthermore, given the game's characteristics, "HuniePop" had a natural marketing advantage compared to other titles when operating with a minimal promotional budget.
Of course, some of the lewder content and provocative character outfits from the original version would need to be modified to comply with this world's content guidelines and ensure the game received an appropriate age rating.
While this world seemed more tolerant of mature content than his previous one, maintaining a balance between appealing character designs and broader market accessibility remained important for maximizing potential revenue.
"But it would take a long time for just one person to handle every aspect of development alone," Jason calculated carefully, drumming his fingers against his desk as he mentally estimated timelines for various development tasks. "I need to find at least one reliable collaborator with complementary skills."
But before delving deeper into project planning and potential recruitment, his body forcefully reminded him of more immediate physiological needs. A powerful wave of hunger suddenly gripped him, his stomach emitting an embarrassingly loud growl that echoed in his quiet apartment.
How many hours had passed since he had last eaten? Looking at the time display in the corner of his monitor, Jason was shocked to discover it was already well past nine in the evening.
With a shake of his head, Jason pushed himself up from his chair, wincing slightly as his stiff muscles protested after hours of immobility. He stretched lazily, and grabbed his keys and phone from the table by the door and prepared to go downstairs to find a restaurant to satisfy his hunger.
The elevator descended smoothly to the ground floor of his apartment building, and Jason stepped out into the pleasantly cool evening air. Despite the late hour, the streets were still reasonably active with people enjoying the city's nightlife.
Neon signs illuminated the walkways with their multicolored glow, and the aromas from various restaurants mingled in the air, making his stomach rumble even more persistently.
After walking about two blocks, Jason found himself drawn to a modest restaurant with a simple wooden sign reading "Tanaka's Local Ramen."
Steam fogged the windows from inside, and the warm yellow light spilling onto the sidewalk created an inviting atmosphere. From outside, he could hear the satisfying sizzle of ingredients hitting hot surfaces and the rhythmic chopping of knives against cutting boards. Without hesitation, he pushed open the door and was immediately enveloped in the rich, complex aromas of savory broths and freshly prepared ingredients.
Twenty minutes later, a steaming bowl of premium beef ramen was placed in front of him by an elderly server with a kind smile.
Jason's eyes widened in appreciation as he observed the artful presentation and picked up an almost translucent slice of perfectly marbled beef.
The meat was sliced with such precision that it appeared almost paper-thin, yet somehow maintained its structural integrity when lifted from the bowl. When dipped in the rich, amber-colored ramen broth, the beef gave Jason an impression of crystal clarity. The marbling of fat within the beef created patterns like that of fine brushwork on traditional paintings.
Six slices of beef were laid over the ramen, with green onions and cilantro on the side.
Whether in his previous world or this parallel one, the beef could be described in one word: thin.
Although the meat portion was barely enough, the noodles were delicious. They had just the right chewiness, and the beef bone broth was equally flavorful.
After eating and drinking his fill, Jason paid and left the noodle shop.
On his leisurely walk home through streets now considerably quieter than before, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number that, according to his inherited memories, belonged to Izumi Nakamura—the talented senior whose artwork had inspired his game concept.
After ringing about three times, the call finally connected with a soft click.
"Senior Nakamura," Jason began politely, "I've completed coloring all the artwork you entrusted to me. Everything turned out quite well, if I may say so. I'll send them to you later tonight for you to review."
He paused momentarily, considering how to phrase his next request, then continued with careful casualness, "Also, I was wondering—do you perhaps have some time available tomorrow, Senior? There's something rather important I'd like to discuss with you in person."
The voice on the other end was melodic and precise, with a slight tinge of curiosity. "No problem at all, Jason. Let's meet tomorrow at 1:00 PM. Do you know Moonbird Coffee near Greenland Park?"
"I know the place," Jason confirmed, making a mental note of the location. "1:00 PM at Moonbird Coffee. I'll be there."
"Perfect! I'm curious about this mysterious discussion topic. See you tomorrow, then," Izumi replied cheerfully before ending the call.
Hanging up the phone with a satisfied nod, Jason stretched lazily. He had determined that his initial funding would come from recreating "Huniepop" in this world's market.
But if he had to handle all aspects of development entirely by himself…
Jason estimated that it would take him about two months to complete "Huniepop." And that was assuming he worked himself to exhaustion.
So, if possible, recruiting a skilled helper—particularly one with complementary artistic abilities—would be the ideal solution.
Whether his proposal to Izumi Nakamura would actually bear fruit remained uncertain.
With these thoughts occupying his mind, Jason returned to his apartment, set his alarm for the following morning, and fell into a deep sleep filled with dreams of successful game launches and adoring fans.
Precisely at 12:45 PM the following day, Jason arrived at Moonbird Coffee as agreed.
The café was moderately busy with the lunchtime crowd, atmospheric jazz playing softly through concealed speakers.
At a window seat in the ground floor lobby sat a young woman approximately twenty-four years old wearing stylish glasses with thin silver frames.
She was dressed in a white casual outfit and was sitting there listening to music with headphones on.
"Izumi-san, thank you so much for taking the time to meet with me today," Jason greeted her warmly as he approached her table.
Noticing his arrival, Izumi Nakamura's expression brightened immediately. She removed her headphones, placing them beside her tablet, and gave him a smile.
"It's no trouble, Jason," She said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "My apartment is literally three blocks from here anyway," She added, shaking her head slightly as if amused by his excessive formality.
Before Jason could continue, Izumi looked at him happily and said, "So, what's this all about, Jason? Have you finally decided to join my studio? I've told you repeatedly that it's not particularly wise to keep stubbornly focusing on traditional manga publication when there are so many other viable paths for artistic expression and financial stability."
Her words came in an energetic rush as she warmed to a topic she had clearly discussed with him—or rather, with this world's version of him—multiple times before. "You could start by gradually honing your skills with doujinshi projects, then transition to more mainstream work later when you've built a stable foundation and reputation,"
She continued earnestly, gesturing with her hands to emphasize key points. "Many famous professionals currently thriving in the industry originally got their start drawing doujinshi under various pseudonyms! It's a perfectly legitimate career pathway."
She paused only briefly before adding with complete sincerity, "And I've thoroughly examined the colored images you completed for me before, Jason. You're very talented!."
Izumi Nakamura spoke to Jason with such genuine earnestness and belief in his abilities that he found himself momentarily flustered by her praise.
"Ahem... Well, Senior Nakamura, I deeply appreciate your kindness and your continued faith in my abilities, truly I do," Jason coughed twice, clearing his throat awkwardly as he shifted in his seat.
"But I didn't actually arrange to meet with you today regarding that," He added apologetically.
The relationship between them became clearer through this interaction and through the memories surfacing in Jason's mind. She was indeed a senior from Jason's university, having enrolled one year ahead of him in the same art program.
Just as Jason—or rather, this world's original version of him—had persistently pursued his dream of becoming a professional mangaka, Izumi Nakamura initially had the same goal.
However, she had ultimately chosen a slightly different path after facing the harsh realities of the industry. Unlike Jason, who had stubbornly continued submitting work to traditional publishers and facing rejection after rejection, Izumi Nakamura had rationally pivoted toward drawing doujinshi.
Relying on this alternative approach, her income had become reasonably secure, providing her with both financial stability and creative fulfillment.
In her own words, which she had shared with Jason multiple times over coffee or lunch, becoming a bestselling doujinshi artist, building a dedicated fanbase and industry reputation, and then strategically transitioning to become an officially published manga artist represented a perfectly viable path to eventual mainstream success!
"The traditional gatekeepers aren't the only path anymore," She had once told him passionately. "Sometimes you have to build your own door if no one will open theirs for you."
As for the specific nature of the doujinshi she created? Naturally, they were doujinshi focused on telling beautiful, emotionally resonant love stories—though sometimes, they might not be quite so innocent or beautiful.
As a senior and someone who had achieved a measure of success, Izumi Nakamura genuinely believed that Jason had exceptional talent and had persistently tried to recruit him to join her studio.
Sensing that their conversation was starting to drift toward this familiar territory—and would likely circle back to her standing offer if he didn't redirect it—Jason immediately launched into the explanation of what he had actually wanted to discuss with Izumi Nakamura today.
As Jason spoke, Izumi's expression transformed from mild surprise to complete astonishment. Her eyebrows rose higher until they nearly disappeared beneath her bangs.
"Eh... switching careers entirely to making games?" She repeated slowly, as if testing the concept aloud to see if it made more sense when spoken.
Hearing Jason's unexpected statement, Izumi Nakamura's eyes widened dramatically, her mouth forming a perfect O of surprise as if she had just heard something unbelievable.
"My fundamental goal has always been to tell engaging stories and create memorable characters for audiences to connect with," Jason explained smoothly, giving her the carefully prepared reason, he had developed the previous evening. "I've come to realize that the specific medium is ultimately just a vehicle for that creative expression. Whether it's manga or games, they're all just different platforms for storytelling at their core."
Jason leaned forward slightly, his expression earnest as he continued building his case. "Besides, there are numerous precedents in the industry of manga artists or novelists successfully transitioning to become game directors or designers,"
Unlike his previous world, thanks to remarkable technological advancements that had democratized content creation across various media, the entry barriers for different creative industries had been significantly lowered in this world.
Complex programming knowledge, once essential for game development, had been partially replaced by intuitive visual scripting systems. High-quality asset creation tools had become more accessible and user-friendly. Distribution platforms had opened direct pathways to consumers without requiring publisher relationships.
As a result, in this world's flourishing entertainment industry, cross-disciplinary professionals were not uncommon. Artists regularly moved between different media, applying their creative visions to various formats and platforms. The boundaries between manga creation, game development, animation production, and other creative fields had become increasingly overlapping.
Of course, whether these industry-hopping creators could maintain consistent success after such transitions was another matter. For every triumphant cross-media success story, there were dozens of cautionary tales about creators who had overestimated the transferability of their skills or underestimated the unique challenges of their new chosen medium.
"That's not the key issue here!" Izumi Nakamura exclaimed with exasperation, rolling her eyes.
Her initial shock had quickly transformed into skeptical indignation as she processed the details of his proposal. "No meals provided during work sessions, no accommodation arrangements for late nights, and you're proposing to delay payments for illustrations until after the game generates revenue? So basically, Jason, are you transparently attempting to extract my professional-grade artwork without appropriate compensation?"
She crossed her arms firmly across her chest, her expression transforming into one of amused disbelief.
If the person sitting across from her wasn't her junior whom she had known for years, and if she hadn't been trying to recruit Jason to join her own studio all this time, Izumi would have gathered her belongings and left immediately, dismissing the entire proposal as an obvious scam designed to exploit creative labor.
"Were your ancestors ruthless industrial capitalists in the 19th century?" She asked with sharp sarcasm, one eyebrow raised incredulously. "Because you appear to be attempting to exploit my artistic labor without appropriate compensation, just like those historical robber barons!"
Then, after a moment's consideration, she shook her head and corrected herself. "No, actually, I'm being unfair to those historical capitalists. Even those notorious 19th-century factory owners wouldn't have had the audacity to go this far! They at least provided some form of minimal compensation, no matter how inadequate it was."