The morning came with the same sterile light that filtered through the half-transparent blinds of the apartment. It wasn't warm sunlight—it was the artificial glow of the city's layered atmosphere. The kind that hummed faintly, like an endless server room. She groaned, pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead. Her vision was blurry, but the glowing status bars at the edge of her vision told her it wasn't sleep deprivation this time.
[Welcome back, Developer.]
[Daily login complete. Streak: 2 days.]
"…Right. It's still here." She muttered, voice dry. "Great. My first gacha streak is sleep deprivation."
A pause. Then another message.
[Would you like to begin the Tutorial Mode?]
[Y/N]
"Do I get an option to uninstall instead?"
[No.]
She sighed. "Figured."
Tapping the air in front of her triggered a soft ripple—the holographic interface expanded outward like a blue sheet of glass. It hovered obediently, clean fonts and gradient borders glowing faintly. The System didn't use fancy 3D animations like the city's tech; it looked surprisingly minimalist, like an old software boot screen. Somehow… it felt familiar.
"Alright, Patch 1.0," she mumbled. "Let's see what you've got."
[Loading Developer Module.]
[Game Creation Parameters Available: Limited Tier.]
[Available Resources: 100 System Points.]
[Core Features: Prototype Console, Resource Exchange, Inspiration Log.]
"Inspiration log?" She tilted her head. "So… like a notes folder?"
[Concept Repository for potential projects. Inspiration Fragments are collected passively based on User's thoughts, memories, and surroundings.]
"…Oh. So you read minds now."
[Only relevant fragments related to development themes are processed.]
"Comforting."
She rubbed her face, sliding off the bed. The moment her feet hit the floor, the lights turned on automatically. Motion sensors. She took a moment to look around again—sleek panels, translucent furniture, screens embedded into the walls. The apartment screamed efficiency. No personality. It was like living inside a blank UI.
"Guess I'll have to decorate later," she murmured. "Assuming I don't starve first."
Her stomach grumbled.
"Okay, definitely starving first."
She opened the fridge. Inside: nutrient packs, bottled water, and a lone energy drink labeled NeuroPulse Boost. She grabbed it with a resigned sigh.
"Breakfast of champions." She popped the seal. "Let's see what you taste like—ah, wow. It's like drinking battery acid."
The System, ever-present, didn't comment. Instead:
[Would you like to access the Prototype Console?]
"Yes, yes, lead the way, my imaginary friend."
The apartment table folded open into a small holo-desk. A shimmering rectangle formed—a console straight out of a dream. Or a fever hallucination. The surface projected code strings and file structures as if it already knew what she wanted to type.
[Prototype Console Activated.]
[Current Limitations: Tier 1 access. Basic frameworks only.]
[Would you like to start your first project?]
She hesitated. "What kind of project are we talking here?"
[Recommendation: A simple, low-resource mini game.]
"…Like Pong?"
[Suitable Example Detected. Would you like to proceed with 'Pong Clone' as tutorial?]
"Sure. Let's Pong our way to greatness."
Code templates appeared. The syntax was eerily similar to old programming languages she knew—C#, Python, even fragments of Lua—but smoother. Streamlined. She reached forward, fingers moving instinctively through the floating keyboard. The moment she typed, the System filled in predicted lines, like an overexcited IDE assistant.
"This is… actually pretty efficient."
[User Efficiency +1%]
She paused. "Wait, it tracks that?"
[All development actions generate metrics. Metrics influence reward output.]
"So you're gamifying game development?"
[Affirmative.]
She smirked faintly. "Of course you are."
Hours slipped by. The sound of her tapping echoed softly against the walls. The System projected progress bars and error logs, and she fell into a familiar rhythm—debugging, adjusting logic loops, re-testing. It was like old times, except this time there wasn't a boss breathing down her neck.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the console pinged.
[Build successful. Would you like to test the prototype?]
"Hell yeah."
The screen flashed. Two rectangles. One pixel ball. A line of white text above them: PONG TEST BUILD 1.0.
She pressed start.
The ball bounced once, twice—then the entire interface glitched. Code flooded the screen in a frantic cascade. The ball exploded into a swirl of corrupted pixels.
[ERROR: Physics engine conflict. Restart required.]
"…You've gotta be kidding me."
She rubbed her temples. "Even in another world, my first project crashes."
[User Emotion: Frustration detected.]
[Consolation Reward: 10 Points.]
"…You pay me to rage?"
[Motivation retention protocol.]
"Sure. Let's call it that."
---
The rest of the day was a blur of coffee-flavored nutrient packs and self-inflicted suffering. Every time she thought she'd fixed one bug, three new ones appeared. Sometimes the AI predicted too much, overwriting her logic. Sometimes it refused to compile because of "emotional inconsistencies."
She had argued with the System so many times that by evening, she was starting to sound insane.
"No, I don't need another efficiency stat! I need you to stop auto-formatting my code like a toddler on sugar!"
[Formatting improves readability.]
"Then read it yourself!"
[User sarcasm detected.]
"I'm talking to a UI. Of course I'm sarcastic!"
By the time she leaned back in her chair, her eyes were bloodshot. The console screen reflected her tired face—dark circles, messy hair, one strand glowing faintly from the city light outside.
Still… the prototype finally worked. The paddles moved. The ball bounced. It was painfully basic, but it worked.
[Prototype Complete.]
[Reward: 50 Points.]
"Fifty, huh? That's not enough for rent, is it?"
[Current Credit Balance: 20,000C.]
[Estimated Rent: 25,000C/month.]
"Figures."
She flopped onto her bed. "I survived one day. Yay me."
The System stayed silent for once. The city beyond the glass shimmered—a thousand holographic billboards advertising hyper-realistic VR titles, cinematic AR stories, games that blurred the line between reality and simulation. Each one polished, flawless, corporate.
And here she was, the girl who made Pong.
She laughed softly. "Yeah. Totally gonna fit in."
---
The next morning arrived faster than she wanted. She woke up to a new notification blinking at the edge of her vision.
[Daily Quest: Stabilize Prototype.]
[Objective: Resolve any existing crash bugs.]
[Reward: +100 Points, +0.5 Efficiency.]
"Great, I get homework now."
Her voice was hoarse. She stretched, wincing when her joints cracked. A glance at the console told her it had already compiled overnight error logs. The System was fast—faster than any dev environment she'd ever used.
As she fixed the broken physics and UI scaling issues, the System occasionally threw out dry messages.
[Good. Keep your loops efficient.]
[Consider optimizing object references.]
[User posture declining. Would you like to activate ergonomic reminder?]
"No, I don't need a reminder to stretch—ow, okay maybe I do."
She stood, stretching her arms above her head until her spine popped. "You happy now?"
[Moderately.]
She snorted. "You're getting sassier every day."
[Learning algorithm active.]
"Well, that's terrifying."
Despite the snark, she couldn't deny that it felt… oddly comforting. The monotone text, the predictable feedback—it anchored her. Like a colleague who wouldn't betray her deadlines.
By late afternoon, the prototype finally stopped crashing. It wasn't much, but it was stable.
[Daily Quest Complete.]
[+100 Points, +0.5 Efficiency.]
She exhaled slowly, staring at the small white square bouncing across the screen. For a moment, the world outside the glass didn't exist. It was just her and this tiny piece of code, perfectly simple, perfectly hers.
"…You know," she said quietly, "it's kind of funny."
[What is?]
"I ran away from burnout, from crunch, from terrible pay… and I still ended up coding all day."
[Observation: You seem content regardless.]
"Yeah. Maybe I'm just broken that way."
[Or maybe you just love building things.]
She blinked. That was… uncharacteristically thoughtful for a program.
"Did you just compliment me?"
[Statistical observation, not compliment.]
"Sure it was."
Her stomach growled again. "Fine. Dinner break. You stay here and… do whatever a glorified calculator does."
[Processing sarcastic directive.]
"Don't you dare."
She walked toward the kitchenette, grabbed another nutrient pack, and leaned against the counter. The city outside flickered again—neon signs changing every few seconds, drones zipping through sky lanes. Somewhere, music blared faintly from an unseen commercial.
It was all so vibrant. Too vibrant. And yet no one seemed real. Everyone was moving too fast, chasing the next perfect simulation.
She looked down at the pack in her hands. "A world that forgot what imperfection feels like, huh?"
The System didn't reply.
"…Guess I'll just have to remind them."
Back at the desk, she saved her progress. A new message appeared.
[New Function Unlocked: Resource Exchange.]
[Exchange Points for Materials, Assets, or System Plugins.]
"Oh? I can buy assets now?"
[Affirmative. Warning: Tier 1 assets are low quality.]
"I've been working with worse."
A catalog opened—models, sound effects, basic music loops. Most were generic, but she found one short retro chiptune labeled "Hopeful Start." It cost 30 points.
"Yeah," she murmured. "That's about right."
She bought it, attached it to her prototype, and pressed play.
The sound filled the room—simple, tinny notes that somehow made her chest tighten.
[Build Complete: PONG TEST 2.0.]
[Quality: Acceptable.]
[Playtime Rating: 3/10.]
"Three out of ten, huh?" She smiled faintly. "Could be worse. Could be one."
[Optimism detected. Efficiency +0.2.]
"Stop gamifying my emotions."
[Cannot comply.]
She leaned back, the music still looping in the background. Her eyes softened as she watched the bouncing white square.
It was dumb, simple, and completely outdated.
But it was hers.
[Main Objective Updated.]
[Goal: Create first playable prototype and attract 10 players.]
[Reward: Unlock Tier 2 Assets.]
"Ten players," she murmured. "Should be easy, right?"
She looked out at the glowing skyline, the endless towers of corporate perfection.
"…Yeah. Easy."
The System flickered softly in the corner of her vision.
[End of Tutorial Mode.]
[New Quest Available: 'Server Timeout.']
And with that, the first spark of her new life began—quiet, uncertain, and running on code written in hope.
The next day started with a crash—literally.
A sharp "thud" echoed across the small apartment as something fell from her desk. She jolted awake, tangled in her blanket, hair sticking up like static. "Huh—what died?"
On the floor, a small holographic cube flickered erratically. The words [Prototype Console: System Idle] blinked above it.
"...You fell asleep running the IDE again, didn't you?" she muttered, crawling over.
[User left the console active for 7 hours.]
[Energy consumption penalty: -30 credits.]
"Oh great," she said dryly. "So now I'm paying for my insomnia too."
[Suggestion: Enable Auto Sleep Mode.]
"Suggestion: Stop guilt-tripping me."
She picked the cube up, setting it back on the desk. The moment it touched the surface, the holographic workspace reignited, displaying her latest test build. The white square bounced across the screen obediently.
"Still works. Good." She stretched her arms above her head. "Alright, my little outdated rectangle. Let's find you some friends to play with."
The System blinked.
[Objective Reminder: 10 players minimum required.]
"Yeah, yeah."
The problem was—how? This world's gaming culture wasn't made for small-time developers. Every popular title came from major corporations that used AI-driven optimization for gameplay loops, psychological engagement, and profitability. People didn't play games for fun anymore. They played to escape into perfection.
And perfection didn't have room for bugs, or pixels, or simple rectangles.
She exhaled slowly. "Guess I'll have to get creative."
---
She spent the morning browsing through the city's digital network. Holo-feeds, AR advertisements, trending games—all of it flooded her vision as she scrolled through endless scrolling panels projected by her wall screen.
Every other headline was about immersive hyperlink experiences, cinematic soul-synchronization engines, and adaptive emotional AIs.
Then she stumbled upon something buried deep within a side panel:
> 'Retro Enthusiasts Anonymous - Private Forum.'
She smirked. "Now we're talking."
[Warning: Access requires 100 credits.]
"Oh, so nostalgia's a paid DLC now?"
[Do you wish to proceed?]
She groaned. "Fine. Subtract it. I need this."
The interface shimmered, and within seconds she found herself inside the forum. It was simple, dark-themed, full of text threads rather than flashy ads. People here were talking about old-school game mechanics, story-driven experiences, 2D sprites. A dying language in a world that had forgotten it.
"Feels like home," she muttered.
She opened a new post.
> [Thread Title:] A Small Retro Project (Looking for Testers)
[Message:]
Hey there, I made a small game in my spare time. Nothing fancy—just something simple. It's short, quiet, and probably full of bugs. But if you've got a few minutes, I'd appreciate any feedback.
Link: [Play_Pong_Test_2.0]
She stared at the post for a while before hitting upload.
Then she waited.
And waited.
After an hour, her post had exactly one view.
[Engagement rate: 0.0003%.]
"Don't you dare rub it in."
[Observation only.]
"Observation denied."
---
Hours passed. She cleaned the kitchen, organized her desk, scrolled through feeds again. No replies. No downloads.
By evening, she had already started doubting herself.
"Maybe they're all asleep," she said weakly.
[It's 7 p.m. in this time zone.]
"Then maybe they're busy."
[Or uninterested.]
"Thanks, system. Real confidence booster."
[Emotion detected: sarcasm.]
"Gold star for observation."
She slumped back in her chair. "Alright, maybe my approach sucked. I should've added a flashy title. Like, 'Mind-Blowing Retro Experience!' or something equally shameless."
[Would you like to enable Auto-Marketing Plugin?]
"You have that?"
[Requires 200 Points.]
She looked at her remaining balance. 130 Points.
"…Of course I can't afford it."
She rubbed her eyes, exhaustion creeping in. But as she hovered her cursor over the post, a new notification blinked.
> [1 Comment: "Tried it. It's… simple, but nostalgic. I like the feel." — User: OldByte]
Her breath hitched.
"…Someone actually played it?"
[New Player Registered: 1/10.]
"Wait, you're counting it?!"
[Confirmed. Player interacted with 70% of gameplay content.]
Her chest warmed slightly. "Wow. I thought I'd be ignored forever."
[Optimism detected.]
"Don't ruin the moment."
---
Later that night, she messaged the user.
> DevLumen: Thanks for trying it out! Appreciate the feedback.
OldByte: No prob. Honestly, it's weirdly peaceful. Feels like the games I used to play on ancient hardware.
DevLumen: That's… exactly what I was going for.
OldByte: Then good job. Maybe next time, add some background sound. It feels a bit too quiet sometimes.
DevLumen: Got it. Will fix that in the next patch.
She leaned back, smiling faintly. "Background sound, huh? Easy fix."
[New Objective: Improve prototype immersion.]
[Reward: +100 Points.]
"Oh, so even you approve now."
[Positive feedback loop acknowledged.]
She began adjusting the code again—nothing fancy, just a few environmental sound effects and a subtle hum to fill the silence. As she worked, the System occasionally displayed tiny messages at the corner of her vision.
[You've been typing continuously for 58 minutes.]
[Consider saving your progress.]
[Reminder: hydrate.]
"Yeah, yeah. You're starting to sound like my mom."
[That implies User's mother was highly efficient.]
She laughed softly. "You're impossible."
---
By morning, the updated build was live.
She didn't expect miracles—but when she checked the forum, she froze.
> [Thread Activity: 10 New Comments.]
"What—wait, what?!"
She scrolled down quickly.
> "This reminds me of my childhood."
"Not bad. Wish more games felt like this."
"It's oddly calming. Are you planning to update?"
Her jaw dropped.
[Player Count: 12/10.]
[Quest Completed.]
[Reward: Tier 2 Assets Unlocked.]
"…I did it," she whispered.
[Affirmative.]
She sat back, blinking rapidly. "Twelve people. It's not even a thousand—but still…"
[Achievement Unlocked: First 10 Fans.]
The notification shimmered brightly before fading. For the first time since arriving in this sterile world, she smiled without sarcasm.
"Guess I'm not that bad after all."
---
The next few days followed the same rhythm.
Morning coffee—well, battery drink—debugging, patching, and checking feedback. The System had become both her assistant and her only coworker.
Sometimes it helped.
Sometimes it judged.
Mostly, it nagged.
"System, why does the new shader keep breaking?"
[Because you wrote it poorly.]
"Wow. Brutal honesty today."
[Encouragement through truth.]
"I preferred your passive-aggressive tone."
[Noted.]
Despite the bickering, her progress accelerated. She learned how to use Tier 2 assets—basic animation effects, better audio filters, and slightly more complex UI tools.
And though the downloads were modest, a small community began forming around her game thread. A few users even asked for development updates, something she hadn't experienced since her old world.
It wasn't fame.
It was recognition.
And that was enough.
---
One night, while testing the new update, she accidentally caused a massive physics error—the ball shot off-screen, the paddles warped, and everything froze.
"Okay, what did I break now?" she groaned.
[Critical Exception Detected.]
[Attempting auto-repair.]
The console flickered violently. Her code began rewriting itself—lines twisting into corrupted loops.
"Stop, stop—don't touch it!" she yelled. "I'll fix it manually!"
[User override confirmed.]
She grabbed the interface, fingers flying across the virtual keyboard. For nearly thirty minutes, she combed through broken variables, restoring logic, untangling chaos. Sweat gathered at her temples.
Finally, the console stopped shaking.
[Recovery complete. Build restored.]
Her knees went weak with relief. She laughed breathlessly, pressing her forehead to the desk. "Holy hell… I thought I lost it."
[User Reaction: Relief.]
[Reward: +10 Efficiency.]
She looked up, exhaling. "You know, System… you could warn me before trying to rewrite the universe next time."
[Noted.]
"Good." She slumped in her chair. "That's enough excitement for one night."
The city lights reflected faintly off the console surface, painting her in soft hues of blue and gold. Somewhere, far below, music echoed from hovercars drifting by.
She stared at her game one more time—the small bouncing square moving endlessly between paddles. Simple, repetitive, perfect in its imperfection.
"…Maybe this isn't such a bad start."
[Main Objective Complete.]
[New Quest: "Server Timeout" unlocked.]
[Hint: Player outreach expansion recommended.]
"Outreach, huh? So now I'm a marketer too."
[Affirmative.]
She sighed. "Alright, fine. Let's see if I can turn twelve players into twenty."
[That's the spirit, Developer.]
"Did you just cheer me on?"
[Statistical encouragement.]
"Sure. Let's call it that."
She smiled quietly, gaze drifting to the skyline again. The holograms outside flickered like a thousand loading screens waiting to be cleared.
And deep down, beneath all the exhaustion and self-deprecating jokes, something steady began to grow—a spark of pride, fragile but real.