"Come, come, come! The President entrusted me to buy a lot of snacks. You've all been working hard lately, so come and share some!"
The little HR, Akane Ayase, called out loudly, "The snacks have already been placed on the table in the pantry. First come, first served!"
Recently, as the company has been thriving and achieving better and better results, everyone's happiness has also rapidly increased.
Seeing this situation, Aoki Haruhi felt that it was indeed time to provide the employees with some benefits.
It wasn't just about simple things like salary raises; it was more about moving closer to his vision of what the company culture and humanistic care should look like 30 years in the future.
For this reason, Aoki Haruhi had specifically set aside a budget to purchase snacks, drinks, and similar benefits for the employees to enjoy during their free time at work.
The amount wasn't huge, averaging about 500 yen per person per day.
In Japan, that's enough to buy a decent bowl of ramen.
Hearing Akane Ayase's voice, everyone cheered excitedly:
This money wasn't a huge amount, roughly 500 yen per person per day.
In Japan, that's enough for a decent bowl of ramen.
When everyone heard Ayase Akane's voice, they cheered excitedly:
"Nani? This is amazing, right? We even get snacks?"
"Thank you, Ayase-san."
Ayase Akane waved her hand, "Don't thank me, thank the President. He said he wanted to provide everyone with a sense of happiness while working, to make everyone feel as comfortable here as they do at home."
When she said this, her face was beaming with a happy smile, as if she were the one providing these benefits herself.
This is what they call the "executor effect," perhaps.
The funds were allocated from above, but the person handling them gets to enjoy the most direct gratitude and adoration from the rank-and-file employees. This sense of pride even far exceeds any satisfaction Ayase Akane gets from work performance.
And recently, as everyone's sense of pride and identification with the company has continued to rise, that Ayase Akane doesn't seem so resistant to the tasks the President has asked her to do—like shopping and organizing company benefits, which are more like the work of an administrative assistant or a secretary.
"Thank you, President. Wow, it's just so great to be able to join a company like Pokeni."
"Yeah, after graduating from university, I only got an informal offer from Pokeni, and I thought my life was over.
I never imagined I had actually struck gold."
"Yeah, after graduating from university, I only got an offer from Pokeni. I thought my life was over. I never expected that I had actually struck gold."
"Shh, can you not read the room? What if the President hears you?"
"Oh, right, right. What I meant was, the President is truly amazing to have managed Pokeni to its current state, and to be able to provide so many benefits that other companies don't have. It really makes one feel truly happy."
Everyone chatted and laughed as they walked toward the break room.
When they arrived, they found a long table spread with all kinds of snacks.
French fries, chocolate, seaweed strips, tempura crackers, gummy candies, and even jelly...
Tasting delicious snacks while chatting happily—it seemed there was no job more delightful than this.
"Ah~ happiness surrounds me."
"Me too..."
"If only there were a cappuccino to go with this."
Ayase Akane, hearing their conversation from the side, couldn't help but blink. A cappuccino, huh? Why don't you just have a steak during work hours while you're at it?
Slurp...
Just then, she glanced to the side and noticed Gen Urobuchi slurping on some jelly.
"Wada-san, if you want some fries, we have mustard sauce here."
Ayase Akane pushed the mustard dish in front of Gen Urobuchi.
"Hmm?"
Gen Urobuchi looked up, staring at Ayase Akane as if she were an idiot. "Why would I dip them in mustard?"
"I just thought someone like you would enjoy bitter things, given how much you love inflicting pain on players," Ayase Akane pursed her lips. "Thanks to you, Wada-san, the company warehouse is already overflowing with the razor blades sent here."
Everyone else couldn't help but cover their mouths and giggle upon hearing their exchange.
"What makes you have such a misconception?"
Gen Urobuchi frowned and retorted, "Great works are often presented in the form of tragedies; even in comedies, the core is still a tragedy. But that has nothing to do with personal taste, does it?"
"I noticed the newcomer, Shinkai Makoto, really likes sweet things too."
In fact, what Old Xu loves most is eating jelly, something that has been showcased in many of his works.
"I see the new guy, Shinkai Makoto, also likes eating sweets."
Actually, Urobuchi's favorite thing to eat is jelly, which is something reflected in many of his works.
Gen Urobuchi raised a finger and tapped his skull, making a duang-duang sound. "Scriptwriting is extremely taxing on the brain. We need a large amount of sugar to replenish our nutrients, and sweets are even better for boosting our creativity.
Ayase-san, you should also eat more jelly or something similar."
"Yes, yes," Ayase Akane replied perfunctorily.
But in her heart, it was truly hard to associate the man in front of her—who looked like a murderer—with something as pleasant as sweets.
If it had to be a sweet, it should at least be something like a durian.
It would go especially well with Wada—strange-tasting, covered in thorns, and leaving a lingering aftertaste for a very long time.
At that thought, Ayase Akane blurted out, "Wada-san, how about I buy some durians next time?"
"Eh?"
"Durians are very rich in nutritional value, and they're sweet too, so Wada-san should really like them, right?"
The only downside might be that they are too expensive.
Domestically grown durians in Japan are quite pricey. Foreign durians sold locally can reach around 1,600 yen per pound because the cost of growing them in Japan is extremely high and the scale of cultivation is small. However, imported durians in Japan are relatively cheaper.
"I don't want that..."
Gen Urobuchi frowned, his mind seemingly already imagining the taste of a durian.
He quickly took a slurp of jelly to steady his nerves.
"No way..." Gen Urobuchi frowned, his mind already conjuring up the taste of durian.
He hurriedly took a sip of jelly to calm himself down.
Seeing the two of them bickering, the people around them couldn't help but be amused.
Having straightforward people like Akane Ayase and Wada in the company really was quite interesting.
"Ayase-san, Wada-san, you two will never be able to get married like this, you know," reminded an older man nearby, a married employee of the company and the head of the programming department, Ken Akanishi.
"Hey! Could you please not say such terrifying things?" Ayase Akane glared at him fiercely.
I've only been influenced by working with weirdos like Haruhi Aoki and Gen Urobuchi for so long, that's all.
Scanning the room, she suddenly discovered something terrifyingly strange:
In Pokeni, from top to bottom, there were actually fewer than 5 people who were married.
The proportion of single people was as high as 90%.
Although the president claimed to have a girlfriend, no one could confirm the truth of it.
Thinking of this, Akane Ayase hurriedly covered her face, unable to stop herself from feeling worried.
Yabai.
Could it be that in this environment, I'll really end up staying single forever?
After finishing their snacks, it was just about time for the company's lunch break.
After eating, Yokoyama, the artist for Your Name, quietly went up to the rooftop for a smoke.
At the same time, Kuroki Shin, a programmer working on The Witcher project, came up with him.
The two of them each lit a cigarette and took a silent drag.
Yokoyama glanced over and, as expected, saw Shinkai Makoto lying on a bench not far away, staring up at the sky.
Everyone was used to this by now.
However, because of this hobby of his, everyone had given him a nickname:
"Sky Boy."
Yokoyama looked up at the sky in the distance.
There was no sun today, and the cloud layer wasn't very thick; it looked just like a Chinese ink wash painting, with the city below and the distant mountains rendered in shades of ink, and a vast expanse of white above.
If it weren't in the middle of the city, it would almost feel a bit desolate.
It was already October, deep autumn, and the weather had started to turn chilly; standing on the rooftop for too long was becoming hard to bear.
Still, chatting here for a while while smoking had become a daily routine for everyone.
Occasionally, the president also comes here.
Pokeni is not a large company; everyone knows each other well, just like a family.
"I heard Your Name is just about finished with development. It should be hitting the shelves soon, right?" Kuroki asked.
"Yeah."
Yokoyama nodded.
But at the same time, a strange expression appeared on his face.
It wasn't joy at the impending completion of development; there was even a hint of confusion and torment.
"Kuroki, do you know?"
Yokoyama frowned and asked perplexedly, "When we develop games, is the work, like on the art side, always received in fragments like this?"
"Huh?"
"For example, we're only responsible for drawing scenes, characters, general backgrounds, decorations, and the like. The specific plot is left to the planners to complete. What the characters say, how the story progresses—we really only have a vague impression of it.
It's only when the whole project is finished and we experience it ourselves that we finally know.
Do you know what I mean?"
"Yeah."
Kuroki nodded, then shook his head.
Come to think of it, programming is even more abstract than art. Sometimes, they are just building "tools"—for instance, the connection of dialogues, triggers, and how the next line is called are all handled by general logic. As for the specific text, programmers don't really care.
Even for images, at most, programmers only consider issues of support; they don't care about the content of the images.
In the eyes of a planner, a game is a complete story, flesh and blood, with visuals and sound.
In the eyes of an artist, it is a collection of puzzle pieces.
But in the eyes of a programmer, it is various logic and code abstracted away, without even a physical entity.
Kuroki could understand part of what Yokoyama said, but only a part.
"And then, I tried experiencing it myself yesterday," Yokoyama's expression shifted repeatedly at the thought, countless images flashing through his mind.
He sighed and said, "Honestly, the script is incredibly powerful; it leaves you feeling empty after playing it."
"And, it's really bizarre, why do I have the feeling that I'm working on a game created by Gen Urobuchi?"
"Huh?" Kuroki looked up, confused.
"I mean that kind of bizarre, fantastical romance, the kind with extraordinary imagination that suddenly stabs you right in the heart at the very end, leaving you with a feeling that gives you nightmares at night.
I woke up this morning, and my back was drenched in cold sweat.
My wife even said I was talking in my sleep, calling out Wada's name over and over again."
"Hahaha..."
Kuroki burst into loud laughter.
Yokoyama was just too funny.
He finally understood, and even felt a bit of sympathy for Yokoyama.
He had thought that since the new game's script wasn't written by Gen Urobuchi, he'd finally escaped that guy's influence and wouldn't have to deal with nightmares anymore, but it turned out to be almost the same experience.
"Yokoyama, you really are pathetic."
"Tell me about it," Yokoyama said, clearly puzzled. "Even though they changed the scriptwriter, it still gave me a taste of something like Gen Urobuchi's style. That pen name 'Wada' is truly terrifying; it really is like a strange, mysterious abyss.
I'm afraid I might go crazy one of these days."
Kuroki was amused again.
He reached out and patted Yokoyama on the shoulder. "What Wada writes truly has a certain magic to it. But you've got one thing wrong."
"Hm?"
"Rather than a Gen Urobuchi vibe, it's more that Wada-san has inherited the philosophy of Kogahara Tsubakiaki."
Yokoyama was stunned for a few seconds before it suddenly clicked.
"Damn it! So that's it!"
No wonder. After all this time, it turns out Gen Urobuchi was imitating the President, and the soul of Kogahara Tsubakiaki has permeated every single game the company has made.
Not to mention that the initial script for the Your Name game was written by the President himself.
Damn it all!
Just then, Shinkai Makoto, who was lying on a chair staring at the sky, heard the noise and glanced in their direction.
But it was only a glance.
It was like a casual look out of a porthole while an airplane passes over a desert, devoid of any emotion.
After taking in the vast expanse of sand, Shinkai Makoto refocused his attention on the sky.
Even though it was just a blank, white nothingness, he seemed to see infinite, endless colors.
At that moment, Shinkai Makoto was conceptualizing a story in his mind about a [Sky Boy].
"Hmm... no, that's not it, not it at all. It's not the feeling I wanted."
In front of a machine specifically used for developing Mega Drive cartridges, Mikami Shinji was observing the simulated game footage on the monitor while rubbing his chin and shaking his head.
On the screen, the lead programmer, Akanishi Ken, was using an external controller to input commands and control the character's movements.
Essentially, the effect seen here was about the same as what it would look like on a TV after being burned onto a cartridge.
A small character was moving back and forth on the screen, two lethal, Desert Eagle-like pistols in his hands firing continuously.
To a certain extent, the game was a bit like Capcom's Red Dead Revolver.
However, the impact feel was much stronger.
When the monsters were hit, there was even a short hit effect.
Mikami Shinji had originally wanted to make the feedback even better, but unfortunately, the current hardware didn't allow for it.
"Then what do you want?" Akanishi Ken asked.
"I hope... well, how should I put it? I just feel like the protagonist is a bit too thin. From the top-down perspective, this guy looks like a malnourished weakling, which is a far cry from the Witcher I have in mind. And the impact feel doesn't provide enough gratification either."
Mikami Shinji pondered, "I want more actions, and stronger destruction effects."
Beside him, the lead artist, Sakata Taiji, frowned deeply as he listened.
Akanishi Ken was also somewhat irritated, "Mikami, you can't make a game like this."
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