Yukima Azuma had deliberately buried his name in a corner of the game's settings.
Not many players noticed it. And certainly not Aki Tomoya—who had zero interest in match-3 games to begin with.
So how did he know?
Azuma narrowed his eyes.
"You investigated me, didn't you?"
Aki Tomoya fell silent.
That reaction was answer enough.
During spring break, he'd met the girl of his dreams. In the heat of that surreal moment, his bike had randomly spun out of control, but he didn't care.
His heart had been struck.
Ever since, he was hell-bent on capturing that moment—the flutter of youth, the spark of destiny—in a visual novel. The greatest one ever made.
But dreams didn't code themselves.
The story? He'd write it—with some help.
The art? He had someone in mind.
The music? He could find someone eventually.
But programming? That was the big hurdle.
And hiring someone? Not happening. He was broke.
So Aki turned to the only solution a desperate man would cling to:
Use people he knew.
Which is why he'd dug through the class roster to track Yukima Azuma down.
And that was why Azuma now looked at him like a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
"You already know who I am, don't you?" Azuma said coldly.
"Not just the guy behind that casual game—but also a professional shogi player."
Aki Tomoya gulped.
"You must've seen news about my official matches too. It's all public. Probably easier to find than our class list."
Azuma took a step forward, his tone sharpening.
"So let me get this straight. You want me to put my shogi career on hold to volunteer as your personal game dev?"
"Why? Because you asked nicely? Do you have a salary offer? A proposal? A pitch deck?"
"No. What you have… is nerve. Aki Tomoya, you're one of the most selfish people I've ever met."
The words hit harder than a slap. And they didn't stop.
In truth, Azuma hadn't even finished his thought:
You're selfish—but so am I. That's why I can't stand you.
Because to him, selfishness without skill was just arrogance.
Aki stood frozen. The embarrassment on his face was so raw, it was almost hard to watch.
Almost.
Anyone else would've crumbled by now. Run away. Cried, maybe.
But not Aki Tomoya.
His skin was thicker than his plot outlines.
Still stammering, unable to respond, Aki stood there like a glitching NPC.
Azuma was already walking past him, having lost interest in the conversation—until:
"W-We can split the profits!" Aki suddenly shouted, like a drowning man grabbing a floating twig.
"Once the game's finished, it'll sell like crazy! We can earn tons—I'll pay you then, I swear!"
Azuma paused mid-step.
Not because he was convinced.
Because it was just so delusional.
Split the profits?
What profits?
Thousands of games are released every year. Most fade into obscurity. Even established studios flop. And Aki wanted to bet on a school club project?
Even miHoYo would laugh at that level of confidence.
Azuma kept walking.
That was when Aki played his final card.
"Wait! I'm not making this up! The script's being handled by Kasumi-sensei!"
"The one who wrote The Metronome in Love! That Kasumi-sensei!"
Azuma stopped again.
Aki's voice rose with excitement.
"And the art is being done by Kashiwagi Eri-sensei!"
"With the two of them, our club is guaranteed to succeed!"
Now that—that—finally got a reaction.
Azuma turned slightly. Slowly.
A smile curled on his lips.
Cold. Calculating.
"Just to confirm…" he said, voice calm now.
"You're saying Kasumi-sensei and Kashiwagi Eri-sensei have already joined your club?"
"Yes!" Aki said, puffing out his chest.
Azuma tapped his chin, pretending to ponder.
"Hmm. You convinced me. Count me in. Just let me know when club activities start."
Two seconds later, he gave a casual wave and walked off—without looking back.
Aki Tomoya watched him disappear down the hall, fists clenched in victory.
"Everything is going smoothly!" he whispered triumphantly.
He glanced at the time, then ran to the back of the school building.
Most clubs had already packed up and gone home.
The art club was no exception.
In front of the shoe lockers, a lone blonde girl was changing her shoes—twin braids swaying slightly.
"Eriri!" Aki called.
Eriri's body stiffened instantly.
She turned slowly, eyes narrowed into blades.
"Didn't I tell you not to talk to me at school!?"
After witnessing Aki's humiliating intro during homeroom that morning, she'd immediately messaged him:
"Don't speak to me. Don't look at me. We don't know each other."
"Ah, my bad! I forgot." Aki scratched his head.
"But this is important!"
Eriri instinctively took a step back.
Aki pulled out a thick wad of papers and handed it over.
They had known each other since childhood, so she accepted them with suspicion.
First page:
"Flash Girl Project"
Second page:
"Let's Make the Greatest Galgame!"
Third page:
Blank.
Fourth? Also blank.
Flipping through the rest—
All blank.
Eriri slowly turned her head toward Aki.
Face deadpan. Eyes empty.
"…Huh?"