One week into the project, the atmosphere in Division B had shifted from apathetic stagnation to a chaotic, sweating tension.
The air conditioning in the corner office was broken, humming uselessly against the heat generated by three overworked computers and a portable fan Wang Hao had brought from home.
"It's impossible!" Wang Hao shouted, slamming his fists onto his desk. The sound echoed through the small room.
He spun his chair around to face Zhong Ming, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. "Director Zhong, I've tried everything! The memory constraints are breaking me. You want 151 monsters? Fine. You want a map? Fine. But you also want an inventory system, a battle calculator, a sprite rendering engine, *and* a save file system? On a 256-kilobyte cartridge? It's like trying to fit an elephant into a matchbox!"
Zhong Ming remained calm, sipping a cup of cheap tea. He had expected this. In fact, this was the primary reason *Pokémon* had been a masterpiece in his previous life—it was a technical miracle squeezed onto the Game Boy.
"Calm down, Wang Hao," Zhong Ming said, his voice steady. "What's the specific error?"
"Data fragmentation!" Wang Hao pointed at a screen full of red error codes. "When the player engages in battle, the game has to load the monster sprite, the background, the UI, and the move set all at once. The buffer overflows, and the system crashes. I told you, we need to cut the number of monsters. Maybe just 30?"
"No," Zhong Ming said firmly. "The number 151 is the core of the marketing strategy. We cannot reduce it."
"Then we cut the animations!" Wang Hao threatened.
"We cannot cut the animations. The monsters need to feel alive," Lin Yue interjected from her corner. She was hunched over her drawing tablet, looking just as tired as Wang Hao. "If they are just static images, the players won't bond with them. They'll feel like data entries."
Zhong Ming stood up and walked over to Wang Hao's terminal. He looked at the code.
It was messy. It was inefficient. Not because Wang Hao was a bad programmer—he was actually quite skilled with the hardware—but because he was using standard coding logic. He was treating the handheld console like a mini-computer, not a specialized gaming device.
In his previous life, Zhong Ming knew that the genius of early game development wasn't about having better hardware; it was about tricking the hardware.
"Wang Hao, step aside," Zhong Ming ordered.
"What? You know how to code?" Wang Hao asked, skeptical.
"I know how to design logic," Zhong Ming replied. "And right now, your logic is too linear."
He pulled up the chair and sat in front of the keyboard. He didn't start typing furiously like a hacker in a movie. Instead, he opened a blank document.
"System," Zhong Ming thought. "Access the reward: Advanced Game Engine Optimization."
The blueprint materialized in his mind. It wasn't just code snippets; it was a philosophy of memory management. It was the secret sauce that allowed early consoles to render complex scenes with kilobytes of RAM.
**[Universal Search Tool: Active.]**
The timer started. **[14:59]**
"Wang Hao, look here," Zhong Ming pointed at the screen. "You are loading the entire monster database into the active RAM during a battle. That is why you are overflowing."
"That's standard procedure," Wang Hao argued. "To calculate damage, I need the stats."
"Wrong," Zhong Ming said. "You only need *one* monster's stats at a time—the one currently fighting. You don't load the database. You use an indexed pointer system."
Zhong Ming began to type. The code he wrote was strange. It didn't look like the standard object-oriented programming the schools taught now. It was raw, pointer-heavy assembly language.
"We use a technique called 'Tile Swapping'," Zhong Ming explained as he worked. "The background isn't a static image. It's a grid of tiles. When the player moves, we don't load a new screen. We shift the tile map and replace the edge with new tiles. It saves 80% of the processing power."
Wang Hao watched, his jaw slowly dropping. He had never seen this method before. In this post-war world, where computers had massive memory, developers had become lazy. They never learned the ancient, elegant arts of optimization.
"And for the sprites..." Zhong Ming continued. "We don't render the whole monster. We render the visible pixels. Anything transparent is null data. We use a compression algorithm here..."
He typed a sequence of commands.
"Done," Zhong Ming said. "Compile it."
Wang Hao hesitated, then hit the [Run] button.
The screen flickered.
A pixelated forest scene appeared. It wasn't 3D, but it had depth. The trees swayed slightly.
Then, a wild monster appeared. It was a crude placeholder—a green blob—but it appeared instantly. No lag. No crash.
The battle menu popped up.
**[Fight] [Bag] [Pokemon] [Run]**
Wang Hao stared at the frame rate counter in the corner. It was a solid 60 frames per second. Stable.
"How...?" Wang Hao whispered. "How did you know to do that? That compression algorithm... it's not in any textbook."
"I read a lot of pre-war archives," Zhong Ming lied smoothly, leaning back. "The ancients were smarter than we give them credit for. They knew how to do more with less."
Wang Hao looked at Zhong Ming with a new expression. It wasn't just respect; it was awe. The 'Producer' title wasn't just a vanity title anymore. This guy knew the code better than the coder.
"Alright," Wang Hao said, cracking his knuckles, a fire lit in his eyes. "If we use this engine... I can optimize the pathfinding for the NPCs too. Maybe I can even add that 'bicycle' feature you wanted."
"Do it," Zhong Ming said. "We have a playable demo by Friday. I want the character to be able to walk from Pallet Town to Viridian City without the game exploding."
**[Universal Search Tool Deactivated. Time Remaining: 00:00]**
Zhong Ming stood up, feeling the mental drain of the system usage. He walked over to Lin Yue's desk.
"How is the art coming along?"
Lin Yue sighed, turning her tablet to show him. "I finished the starter sprites. But I'm struggling with the 'Evolution' concept you described."
She pointed to the three stages of the fire starter: Charmander, Charmeleon, and Charizard.
"The transition feels abrupt," she said. "You want the player to feel like the monster grew up, not just turned into a different monster."
"Focus on the eyes," Zhong Ming instructed. "The eyes must remain consistent. That is the soul. Charmander is cute, Charmeleon is rebellious, Charizard is majestic. But the eyes... they must look at the trainer with recognition."
Lin Yue nodded, zooming in on the pixelated eyes. She adjusted a few pixels, giving Charizard a softer gaze despite its fierce exterior.
"Like this?"
"Perfect," Zhong Ming said. "When players see that, they will feel the bond. They will remember the tiny lizard they started with, and feel proud of the dragon it became."
Just then, the door to Division B swung open.
It was Li Cheng. He held a clipboard and looked impatient. He wasn't alone. Behind him stood a man in a sharp suit—someone from the Finance Department.
"Zhong Ming," Li Cheng said, his tone clipped. "I need an update. The board is asking questions. They want to know why we are wasting resources on 'pixel art' when the marketing team says retro styles are dead."
Zhong Ming smiled, though his eyes were cold. "Director Li. Perfect timing."
He walked over to the development terminal Wang Hao had just vacated.
"Dead, you say?" Zhong Ming grabbed a controller. "Take a look."
He pressed a button. The screen lit up.
The title screen appeared. It was simple. Two versions of the game logo, side by side.
**POCKET MONSTERS: RED VERSION**
**POCKET MONSTERS: GREEN VERSION**
The music kicked in. Old Zhang, who had been napping at his desk, woke up and hit a key on his synthesizer, syncing the sound perfectly. It was a high-energy, upbeat chiptune track—the Title Screen theme.
Li Cheng and the Finance Manager stared at the screen.
"Press Start," Zhong Ming said.
He started the game. The pixelated character shrank down onto the screen, entering a cozy house. The movement was smooth. The world was colorful.
"This is... actual gameplay?" The Finance Manager asked, surprised. "It looks polished."
"It's more than polished," Zhong Ming said. "Wang Hao, pull up the battle scene."
Zhong Ming walked the character into the tall grass. The screen flashed.
A wild Rattata appeared! (Wang Hao had hastily programmed in a purple rat sprite).
The battle transition was instant. The UI was clean.
"You see," Zhong Ming turned to Li Cheng. "This isn't just a game. It's a system. It works. We are on schedule for the beta demo next month."
Li Cheng watched the screen for a long time. He watched the simple, addictive loop: walk, encounter, fight, run. It was mesmerizing. It was so different from the clunky, menu-heavy war sims.
"The sprite work is... distinctive," Li Cheng admitted, his voice softer. "And the speed... it's fast. I didn't think this hardware could do that."
"The hardware isn't the problem," Zhong Ming said. "The software was. We fixed it."
Li Cheng looked at the team. Wang Hao was grinning, energized. Lin Yue was drawing furiously, ignoring them. Old Zhang was tapping his foot to the beat of his own music.
"Alright," Li Cheng said, checking his clipboard. "You've bought yourself another month. But I need a playable build for the internal review board in 30 days. Not just a tech demo. I need an actual gameplay loop."
"You'll have it," Zhong Ming promised.
As Li Cheng left, he paused at the door. "Zhong Ming. This 'Evolution' mechanic you mentioned in the proposal... make sure it works. If the players don't care about the monsters, this whole thing falls apart."
"They will care," Zhong Ming said. "Because in this world, the only thing that evolves faster than technology is loneliness. We are selling a companion."
The door closed.
Zhong Ming let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"Okay team," he said, turning back to them. "Break is over. We have a world to build."
He looked at his bracelet.
**[Task Update: Demo Development - 10% Complete]**
**[Points: +5 (Team Morale Boost)]**
It was a small gain, but it was progress. The empire was starting to lay its bricks.