“I can see it’s difficult for you to ask me for help. However, there are things that can’t be done, no matter how much you beg, Satou.”

“Please, do something to help me!”

“For one thing, there’s no way that something you started to earn a girl’s respect could last for long. It’s obvious that you’ll lose your motivation soon.”

“That’s not true! I’m serious! I’m passionate!”

“I have school tomorrow. I’m tired already.”

“It’s not just wanting Misaki’s respect. If I could become a game creator, I’d be able to escape my life as a hikikomori, wouldn’t I?!”

“It’s impossible.”

“No, it can’t be!” I insisted.

“It won’t work.”

“Yes, it will.”

I spent another hour pleading with him. I tried appeasing him, coaxing him, yelling at him—and finally, I tried wheedling to get on his good side. “While you’re at school, I could tape the anime on TV. I’d even cut out the commercials for you.”

At last, Yamazaki gave in. “Well, Satou, you seem to be really committed.” His voice was serious.

“Yeah. I do mean it. I’m totally committed.”

“If so, there’s one way that even you, Satou, could become a game creator. But…”

“But?”

“It may actually be the bloodiest path, an unendingly severe and painful method that would make anyone want to abandon the course, not to mention someone like you, Satou.”

Yamazaki’s face was grave, and I gulped reflexively. My determination had already taken shape, though. I’ll do it, no matter what. “I’ll do anything”, I said.

“Is that really true?”

I nodded.

“Absolutely true? You can’t just say, ‘I’m done’, in the middle, okay?”

I made a show of nodding deeply again.

Yamazaki made his eleventh cup of coffee, and I started slurping my second bowl of ramen. “I understand, Satou. Let’s talk. I’ll tell you about my plan.” Leaning forward, Yamazaki spoke conspiratorially. “Today’s games are made on an incredibly large scale. A huge amount of data and precision programming are necessary, so novices like us can’t do anything. Even making a game around the level of the outdated Super Nintendo would be a trial, at best. And even if you managed something like that, you still couldn’t possibly call yourself a game creator.”

“Then—“

Yamazaki quickly cut me off. “Just listen to me, all right? We have no budget, no friends in the industry, and nothing beyond the most limited resources. Even in our humble situation, there’s still a way. Even without being able to write a decent program or prepare more than crappy music, as long as we have about fifty CG—or computer graphic—illustrations and one book’s worth of scenarios, there’s a game genre that should work for us!”

Yamazaki’s voice now was unmistakably suffused with passion.