Looking back on it now, it really was a storm of a week.
On Monday, an internal whistleblowing post blew up on Blind,
on Tuesday, Saori popped out of the game,
on Wednesday, I was falsely accused of being the whistleblower,
on Thursday, I was investigated by the audit team,
and on Friday, I ended up leaving the company.
Calling it a week sounds nice, but for all that to have happened in just five days was downright spectacular.
Enough that they could slap “based on a shocking true story” on it and make a movie someday.
At any rate, after going through that whole ordeal, Saturday finally arrived.
Having become unemployed overnight, I was sweating it out with Saori from early morning.
In a wholesome sense, of course.
“Sensei, where should I move this?”
“Ah, we use that often, so put it in a corner of the living room.”
Four days had already passed since Saori came to my home.
During that time, I had given her, my guest, the bed in the master bedroom while I slept on a futon in the living room, but that couldn’t go on forever.
So today, after steeling myself, I decided to clean out the small room I’d been using as storage.
Until we found a way for her to return to her original world, it seemed we would have to live together at my place for the time being.
“~♪”
Saori hummed as she dusted off the thick layer of dust piled atop the bookshelf.
Unlike her usual look, with her ebony-black hair worn loose and straight, seeing her with a ponytail for cleaning felt somehow different.
It was like my favorite character had gotten a new skin, you could say.
“Sensei? Why are you staring at me like that?”
“It’s nothing.”
Caught awkwardly stealing glances at her while she cleaned, I quickly played dumb and pretended to focus on cleaning.
Saori tilted her head, then returned her attention to tidying up the room.
As I diligently swept the floor with a broom and dustpan, I snuck another sidelong glance at Saori as she cleaned the bookshelf.
This time, it wasn’t because I was admiring her changed appearance, but for another reason entirely.
‘She really did disappear.’
After Saori popped into reality, I hadn’t logged into Red Asterisk for a while.
But last night, I belatedly remembered and logged into the game, only to discover one thing.
The “Tachibana Saori” that had been on my account was gone.
As if she had never existed from the beginning.
Just in case, I replayed an old episode where Saori had appeared, and in the part where she should originally have shown up, a character with a similar but slightly different appearance and setting had appeared instead, filling her role.
‘Does that mean Saori crossing over into this world caused changes in the game world?’
If so, something even more absurd than a game character popping out of the screen had happened.
If I had to put it in words, this could also be considered a kind of reality alteration.
‘Anyway, trying to understand the current situation with my own head is stupid in itself.’
Since an event that couldn’t be explained scientifically had occurred in the first place, there was no point in trying to apply the standards of common sense I knew.
In that case, I would rather—
‘Cherish this moment.’
To put it bluntly, Saori might find a way back to her original world as soon as tomorrow.
A gamer’s fantasy that everyone must have imagined at least once—your favorite game character popping into reality and living with you—had literally happened to me. If I couldn’t enjoy it, I’d be the only one losing out.
Just as my complicated thoughts were starting to settle to some degree—
“...nsei, Sensei!”
“Huh? Oh?”
Only belatedly realizing that Saori had been calling me, I abruptly turned my head.
Saori, who had been dusting the bookshelf moments ago, was looking at me with a cardboard box in her arms.
“What were you thinking so hard about that you didn’t even notice me calling you?”
At Saori’s question, I gave an awkward smile and answered.
“I was just thinking about what to order for lunch today.”
“You’re going to get delivery? I can make something.”
“You must be tired from cleaning since morning. I can’t ask you to cook on top of that.”
When I said that smoothly, Saori blushed slightly and replied.
“W-Well, if that’s the reason, then it can’t be helped. So what are you ordering?”
“Hmm.”
For a moment, I hesitated.
In truth, I had only said it to change the subject, but we did have to decide on a lunch menu.
Then, noticing the magnet stuck to the side of the refrigerator, I said to Saori,
“Let’s have jjajangmyeon for lunch today.”
“Jjajangmyeon?”
“It’s a food. You’ll see.”
***
Generally, the food people eat on days when they do a big cleaning or move houses is jjajangmyeon.
I don’t know the exact reason why, but considering how few foods are as universally liked by men and women of all ages, I figured even Saori, who was Japanese, would enjoy it.
“Delivery!”
“You can leave it here.”
Two bowls of jjajangmyeon, sweet and sour pork, and fried dumplings, ordered from a Chinese restaurant that still hired its own delivery driver instead of using quick-delivery services in this day and age.
Seeing the food arrive in less than twenty minutes, Saori looked surprised.
“The delivery is really fast.”
“Koreans are the people of delivery, after all.”
“...Is that some kind of metaphor?”
“No, if you don’t get it, never mind.”
Exchanging such silly conversation, I moved the jjajangmyeon and sweet and sour pork from the front door to the dining table, then gave Saori, who was trying Korean-style Chinese food for the first time, a demonstration by a seasoned instructor.
First, I took out the wooden chopsticks and, before splitting them in half, gently scraped around the plastic-wrapped bowls of jjajangmyeon and sweet and sour pork.
After cleanly peeling off the wrap without getting oil or sauce on my hands, I used the chopsticks to thoroughly mix the jjajangmyeon, whose sauce and noodles were still separated.
Mixing and mixing again until the noodles were completely dyed black—then it was done.
“Here, try it.”
When I said that and handed over the bowl of jjajangmyeon I had mixed myself, Saori split her chopsticks in half with a half-doubtful expression and carefully picked up some noodles.
Then she slurped them up, and the next moment, her eyes flew wide open.
“It’s good.”
“Right?”
Jjamppong, I wouldn’t know, but in all my life, I had never seen a foreigner who disliked jjajangmyeon.
Apparently jjajangmyeon suited her taste quite well, because Saori began eating in earnest.
Watching her with satisfaction, I began mixing my own portion of jjajangmyeon.
As the two of us focused on eating in silence, Saori seemed to be getting full and was the first to put down her chopsticks before bringing something up casually.
“Come to think of it, Sensei.”
“Yeah?”
“What are you planning to do from now on?”
At her sudden question, I was at a loss for words.
That was because I hadn’t really thought of anything in particular.
So I had no choice but to give a vague answer.
“I don’t know. I might rest for a while until I find a new job.”
But from Saori’s perspective, that answer must not have been very satisfying, because she asked again.
“Are you thinking of looking for a new job in the game industry?”
“That’s...”
In an instant, countless thoughts filled my mind.
Of course, I still liked making games.
But after causing that huge mess when I left the company, it was obvious that the process of finding a new job wouldn’t be smooth.
The game industry seemed wide, but it was surprisingly narrow.
Rumors about me would soon spread through the industry, and then finding a new job would be anything but easy.
Saori had probably asked with that in mind as well.
“Honestly, I’m not sure.”
So I answered honestly.
I had only failed once, and giving up because of this and that felt like a waste of everything I had built up until now.
But in the end, regardless of what I thought, if there was no one willing to hire me, it would all be for nothing.
If I were younger, I could grit my teeth and endure it, but at thirty-one, spending a long time job hunting came with nothing but disadvantages.
I might be fine for the moment, but considering the utilities and bank interest that left my account every month just for breathing, I had to find a new job as quickly as possible.
Perhaps reading my worries, Saori took a brief breath before speaking.
“If you still have lingering attachment to the game industry, Sensei, then why not start your own company instead?”
“Start my own company?”
“Yeah. I can’t say I know the ins and outs of the game industry, but I wondered if starting your own company might be faster than finding a new job.”
“......”
Now that I heard it, it sounded like a fairly plausible plan.
If I had come from game planning or art, I wouldn’t even dream of solo development, but I was still a programmer who had rolled around on development floors for five years.
I could handle the Unity engine as a matter of course, and when it came to making 2D illustration-based games in particular, I could say I was far more experienced than the average developer.
“If you’re anxious about working alone, I’ll help you as much as I can from beside you. It’s the relationship between you and me, Sensei.”
What exactly is the relationship between you and me?
The words rose to the tip of my throat, but that wasn’t what mattered right now, so I desperately thought about something else.
‘Starting a company, huh.’
Considering the money currently left in my bank account, even if I started a company, I would only be able to hold out for about a year at most.
Of course, there were all sorts of government support programs these days, so I might be able to last longer than calculated, but with this kind of thing, one had to assume the worst.
And in the first place, if I invested a year and saw no results whatsoever, investing any more time than that probably wouldn’t change much.
But even taking all of that into account, there was still one problem left.
And that was—
‘Can I do it?’
That fundamental question.
An indie game.
As the words implied, it was a game developed on a small scale without help from a major publisher, game company, or investor.
Because the barrier to entry was relatively low, hundreds and thousands of games poured onto platforms every year, and among them, only an extremely small number ever became known to the public.
A red ocean among red oceans, in the truest sense.
A narrow society that was practically a miniature version of the modern game industry itself, where standing out was exceedingly difficult.
But my deliberation didn’t last very long.
After all, until I found a new job, I had nothing in particular to do right now.
In that case, making the game I wanted to make to my heart’s content, with no interference and no one to get in my way, didn’t seem like a bad idea.
Until now, even when I had ideas, I had never been given the chance to unfold them.
“All right. To hell with it, let’s give it a try.”
When I reached that conclusion, Saori rejoiced as if it were her own business, saying I had made the right choice.
Seeing Saori like that, I felt an inexplicable warmth and gratitude.
‘So this is what it feels like to be a Sensei.’
Though of course, I don’t have a license.