Blake Weiss woke up with a splitting headache and a faint burning sensation in his stomach.
He opened his eyes, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. The air was thick with the smell of instant noodles and dust.
"Is this still my apartment?!"
His heart lurched. He sat up abruptly, and a flood of memories poured into his mind like water bursting through a dam.
A few minutes later, he'd digested two facts.
One: he had transmigrated.
From one Earth to another... a seemingly identical Earth?
The technology level was similar. The historical and cultural foundations were alike. Even the languages were exactly the same.
The US, Japan, China, Korea—even the names of the countries matched his previous life perfectly.
But that wasn't the important part. What mattered was the second fact—his current identity.
The original owner of this body was also named Blake Weiss. He was very handsome, just as handsome as Blake had been in his previous life, and his profession was "independent game designer."
That title made the slight smile on Blake's face—a man who'd spent his previous life enjoying countless masterpieces like The Legend of Zelda, the Pokémon series, Elden Ring, Red Dead Redemption 2, Black Myth: Wukong—freeze instantly.
Because along with that title came the original owner's appallingly barren memories.
The tech tree in this world had developed nicely, but the cultural and entertainment industry—especially gaming—was as barren as a post-nuclear wasteland.
The "industry ceiling" and "immortal masterpiece" in the original owner's mind was a game called Rainbow Bubble Dragon. Its core gameplay involved shooting colored balls to match three or more and clear them.
Yes, it was basically a combination of Candy Crush and Bubble Shooter, but with crude graphics and simple mechanics.
And this was already considered a "groundbreaking masterpiece" in this world, breaking sales records and getting hyped by the media.
As for the original owner's own work?
Blake's gaze fell on the slightly dated computer on the desk by the bed. The screen was still on, displaying an extremely primitive interface:
A crude blue background. Several crooked square blocks serving as obstacles. A circular pixel dot that could be dragged with the mouse.
The game title was prominently displayed at the top: "Fun Pinball Simulator - v1.0"
Blake felt his eye twitch.
With the tragic resolve of a man walking to his execution, he gripped the mouse and clicked [Start Game].
The pixel pinball began to fall, emitting a cheap donk sound effect when it hit an obstacle, then bounced off randomly with no regard for physics, finally landing in a groove at the bottom that represented the "finish line."
Several flashing characters popped up at the top of the screen: "Congratulations! Level Cleared! Time: 2.1 seconds!"
No level design. No difficulty progression. No satisfying feedback.
The experience was worse than a slot machine—at least a slot machine could make people feel something.
He clicked into the original owner's sales backend. The data was clearly displayed:
"Fun Pinball Simulator"
Time on shelf: 7 days
Price: Free
Total downloads: 70
Number of reviews: 0
Revenue: $0
The game was so bad it hadn't even earned a single negative review. It was like posting a web novel that didn't get a single comment—not even hate. A massive wave of absurdity and despair crashed over Blake.
He'd transmigrated. He'd gained a second life. But he had to bear this identity and struggle to survive in a gaming cultural desert?
"Damn it!"
"What's the difference from not transmigrating?! This is even worse than before!" Blake couldn't help but vent to the empty room. "At least before, I could splurge during Steam's summer sale! I could watch developers overpromise and underdeliver!"
"But here, I don't even have promises to be disappointed by!"
He slumped in his computer chair, staring at the idiotic pinball on the screen, feeling like his future was utterly bleak.
Go back to his old profession?
In this world where game development tools were appallingly primitive, what could he possibly accomplish alone?
Would he have to spend ten years first, building everything from scratch, just to popularize concepts like "RPG," "action game," and "FPS" in this world?
Just as despair began to set in—just as he started considering whether to switch careers and try writing novels or making movies—
[Ding!]
[Friendly reminder: The novel and film industries in this world are also barren. Only slightly better than gaming.]
A cold, clear mechanical voice sounded in the depths of his mind without warning.
[Detecting host's strong cognitive conflict and creative desire.]
[Game Design Master System... binding in progress.]
[Binding successful. Host may choose to unbind at any time.]
[This system's purpose is to assist the host in becoming a pioneer who will lead this world's gaming civilization. You may call this system anything you like.]
[System database has loaded all known games and a massive library of artistic resources from your original world. The host can spend System Points to exchange for them.]
[Following tradition, the system will now issue one Starter Gift Pack to the host.]
Blake's breathing quickened. The old stories were true—transmigration really did come with a system!
In an instant, Super Mario, Doom, World of Warcraft, StarCraft, The Elder Scrolls, God of War, Call of Duty, Breath of the Wild... countless titles, countless worlds, countless gameplay styles and emotions lit up in his mind, clear and within reach.
His gaze fell once more on the trash on his screen called "Fun Pinball Simulator," and his eyes had completely changed.
From rock bottom to cloud nine—the massive emotional shift made his body tremble slightly.
He took a deep breath, suppressing the surge in his chest, and the corner of his mouth curved into an ambitious arc.
"Candy Crush? Pinball Simulator?"
"Gentlemen, times have changed."
"Let me show you what a real game looks like."
Blake reined in his smile. He couldn't get ahead of himself—he didn't know yet what would come out of the starter pack.
"System, open the Starter Gift Pack."
[Starter Gift Pack opened.]
[Obtained: System Points × 1000]
[Obtained: Game Production License — Desert Bus]
[Task System activated.]
[Side Quest — Going Corporate: Join a company with a market value ≥ $1 million.]
[Quest Reward: System Points × 1000]
[Starter Quest: Create any game with total downloads ≥ 3,000. (Cannot be completed through data manipulation.)]
[Quest Reward: One random game in the System Mall discounted to 50% of host's current points.]
[Main Quest: Not yet activated.]
Not bad. He hadn't gotten any god-tier games, but Desert Bus would still be an eye-opener for this world.
At least, that was the first impression it would give. After all, the gameplay of that game... players would discover after an hour or two that it could only move forward, with no ending and no progress feedback whatsoever.
But what Blake wanted was the first impression. Getting people to download it was enough. And never underestimate humanity's appetite for novelty—whether something was extremely good or extremely bad, it would attract attention.
"What's the game production process like?" he asked casually. "Does it just poof into existence if I ask you to make it?"
[Not quite.]
[The host can create games independently, or through the system's Game Production License.]
[A Game Production License functions similarly to what the host imagines—having the system create it—but it's not the instant 'poof' completion you're picturing. Time required ranges from approximately 12 hours to 168 hours.]
Create games himself...?
With his skill level from his previous life, he could indeed build some small games independently, but even the smallest game would take one or two weeks—maybe longer. Writing code took serious brainpower.
After a few seconds of thought, Blake spoke again: "Is there any point in saving the Game Production License?"
"Like, can three one-star licenses combine into one two-star license?"
[Has the host been playing too much Teamfight Tactics?]
He shrugged. The meaning of that reply was crystal clear.
"Consume the Desert Bus Game Production License."
[License consumed: Desert Bus]
[Game production started. Time required: 12 hours.]
Author's Note: This story isn't purely about game development—there will be significant focus on streamer reactions, ordinary players, and the protagonist experiencing the games himself. If that's not your thing, fair warning!
PLZ THROW POWERSTONES.