Zaboru went with Ayumi to the Akaishidan office later that afternoon. As expected on a weekend, the building was almost completely empty. The usual voices, footsteps, and constant movement of developers were absent, leaving only the quiet hum of computers and the occasional sound of the ventilation system. Ayumi unlocked the entrance and stepped inside, while Zaboru followed closely behind her. He had visited the office many times before, so the place was already familiar to him, but it felt strangely different without the employees filling every room.
The moment they entered, Ayumi began walking toward her studio far too quickly. Her earlier gloom had disappeared, replaced by the restless excitement of a creator who had finally found someone willing to look at the problem inside her head. Zaboru watched her for several seconds before his concern defeated his amusement. "Ayumi, slow down. The problem isn't going to escape."
Ayumi glanced back at him but barely reduced her pace. "I'm walking normally."
"That is not normal walking. That is restrained running," Zaboru replied, catching up beside her. His gaze briefly lowered toward her stomach. "You're pregnant with twins, remember? Please don't make me carry you back to the car before we even open the game."
Ayumi finally slowed down, although her small smile made it obvious that she found his concern amusing. "You worry too much."
"I worry the correct amount. You simply create too many reasons."
Not long afterward, they reached Ayumi's private development studio. Unlike many creative workspaces Zaboru had visited, the room was remarkably tidy. Documents were organised into labelled folders, design sketches were pinned carefully onto one side of the wall, and the desks were almost completely free of unnecessary objects. Even the game-development notes looked arranged according to colour and topic.
Zaboru looked around with mild admiration. "Sheesh Your studio is cleaner than mine."
Ayumi smiled proudly. "Of course it is."
"That answer came very quickly."
"Because it is clearly true."
Zaboru chuckled as Ayumi moved toward her computer. She sat down, switched it on, and began opening several project files with practised speed. Her posture changed almost immediately. The playful wife who had clung to him at home disappeared, replaced by the focused developer who managed an entire studio. Her expression became sharper, her movements more precise, and even her voice carried more confidence.
Zaboru watched her quietly and thought that Ayumi looked surprisingly attractive whenever she entered her working mode. He wisely kept that observation inside his head and sat beside her instead.
Ayumi opened the latest project build. "All right, Zabo. This is my problem. You remember my recent project, right? The visual-novel-style game I wanted to create because I loved FATE, mixed with the partner concept inspired by your Venom comics?"
Zaboru nodded. His memory would never allow him to forget something she had explained with that much excitement. "Mysteries: AniMax."
Ayumi's eyes immediately brightened. "Yes! You remember. I first showed it to you in July when you visited the studio."
"Of course I remember. A supernatural detective game where humans form contracts with AniMax creatures. The investigation changes depending on the partner, and conflicts eventually lead into interactive battle sequences."
Ayumi nodded enthusiastically, but the excitement on her face gradually faded as she opened a large branching story diagram. The screen was filled with boxes, arrows, character names, but with just little title.. Some branches crossed over one another so many times that the diagram resembled a city railway map designed by someone who hated tourists.
"This is where everything became frustrating," Ayumi admitted. "I want the player to choose from several AniMax partners instead of being forced to use only one. I want every AniMax to have its own personality, personal conflict, bond with the host, and relationship with the rest of the cast. I also want the player's decisions to matter. An AniMax might betray its host. The player might abandon an AniMax. Some partners might become jealous, loyal, frightened, corrupted, or even sacrifice themselves depending on the choices."
She changed to another document, revealing even more branches. "But every investigation also needs to respond to the chosen partner. Then each major scene should lead naturally into a battle sequence, because I don't want the game to become only a visual novel. The developers are trying, but every new choice creates several new scenes, and every new scene creates more dialogue, animation, battle conditions, and consequences. I wanted the game to feel flexible, but now the flexibility is crushing the project."
Ayumi lowered her hands from the keyboard and stared at the overwhelming chart. "If I remove too much, I'm afraid the game will lose what makes it special. But if I keep everything, the developers may never finish it properly. What should I do, Zabo?"
Zaboru studied the diagram without speaking for a while. This was a familiar creative problem. He had seen it among game developers, manga authors, filmmakers, and novelists in his previous life. A creator became excited by the possibilities of an idea, kept adding more paths, and eventually mistook the size of the work for the depth of the experience.
He did not ask Ayumi to explain the entire story. In fact, he deliberately avoided it. "I don't want the full details because I still want to play the game without being spoiled. But let me guess. The player can choose around four AniMax partners near the beginning. Each one has its own bond route, personal drama, investigation abilities, and battle style. You also want several possible relationships between the player and the AniMax, including loyalty, distrust, betrayal, and sacrifice. Then most major story branches must eventually reconnect with the battle system because combat is still one of the game's core features."
Ayumi slowly turned toward him, her eyes widening more with every sentence. "H-how did you know? The branch title just says a little…"
Zaboru shrugged. "Because you are not struggling with a lack of ideas. You are struggling because every idea is asking to become equally important."
He looked around the studio, then noticed an empty shoebox stored beneath a side table. Zaboru picked it up, returned to Ayumi, and placed it between them.
"Think of this box as your game," he said.
Ayumi looked at the box, then at him. "The entire game?"
"More specifically, this is the amount of attention your player can carry."
That answer immediately changed the way Ayumi looked at it.
Zaboru opened the lid. "A development team has limited time and money, but players also have limits. They have limited attention, limited memory, and limited emotional space. You can put hundreds of toothpicks inside this box. Every one of them technically fits. Those toothpicks can be dialogue variations, small choices, alternate reactions, optional scenes, different battle conditions, or minor branches."
He mimed scattering tiny objects inside the box. "You may look at it and feel proud because the box contains hundreds of things. But when the player opens it, what do they see? A pile of small pieces. They might remember that there were many of them, but they may not remember a single one clearly."
Ayumi listened without interrupting.
Zaboru then pointed toward the shoes she was wearing. "Now imagine placing one pair of shoes inside instead. The shoes take almost the entire box. Suddenly, there is less room. You cannot add everything anymore. But the moment someone opens the box, they understand what it was built to carry."
Ayumi's expression slowly changed.
"The shoes are your core experience," Zaboru continued. "The one thing that must be large enough to give the entire game its shape. The smaller things should fit around it, not compete with it. You can still place socks beside the shoes. You can add spare laces, a cleaning cloth, or a small note. Those details make the box feel complete. But if you remove the shoes just so you can fill the box with more accessories, you have created a very full shoebox that no longer contains what the player came for."
Ayumi stared at the open box, completely absorbed.
Zaboru turned it slightly toward her. "Right now, your project has four pairs of shoes fighting for the same box. The relationship with the AniMax wants to be the main experience. The mystery investigation wants to be the main experience. The branching narrative wants to be the main experience. The battle system also wants to be the main experience. None of those ideas are bad, but if all of them demand the same amount of space, they will crush one another."
He paused before adding, "And here is the dangerous part: every branch you create does not only occupy development space. It divides the player's emotional attention. If one relationship has ten shallow variations, the player may care less than they would about three carefully developed moments. More roads do not automatically create a larger journey. Sometimes they only make it easier to get lost."
Ayumi's eyes widened further.
Zaboru tapped the edge of the box. "A branching story should not be a tree with thousands of thin, dying branches. It should be a strong trunk with several meaningful limbs. The trunk tells the player what the game is truly about. The branches allow them to explore that meaning from different directions. Without the trunk, you do not have freedom. You only have fragments."
Zaboru chuckled. "Think of it as my fate. It has many decisions but in the end the choice was up to 3 right? But each is memorable right?"
For several seconds, Ayumi said nothing. Her gaze shifted between the box, the enormous route diagram on her screen, and the unfinished build of Mysteries: AniMax.
Then she slowly nodded. "So I shouldn't begin by asking how many choices the player can make. I should ask what I want those choices to make the player feel."
Zaboru's eyes brightened. "Exactly."
Ayumi leaned closer to the screen, speaking more to herself now. "If the bond between the host and AniMax is the core, then the investigation should test that bond. The battles should express it. Even betrayal should come from it. I don't need every partner to create a completely separate version of the entire game. They can share the main mystery, while the important scenes, abilities, conflicts, and outcomes change based on the relationship."
"Now you are organising the box," Zaboru said. "Choose the shoes first."
Ayumi began looking through her notes with renewed focus. "The relationship between the human and AniMax should be the largest part. The mystery is what forces them to depend on each other. The battle system is where their trust becomes playable. The branches should reveal different sides of the same central relationship rather than creating four almost unrelated games."
Zaboru smiled. "Bingo. And remember, sacrifice is not automatically weakness. Every good creation requires sacrifice. Removing an idea does not mean the idea was worthless. It means you protected the ideas that mattered more."
Ayumi remained silent for a moment, then began grinning as the full meaning of his explanation settled inside her. "Holy… Zabo, when you explain it like that, I can actually see the project differently. I kept trying to preserve every possibility because I thought removing any of them would reduce the player's freedom. But the game doesn't need infinite choices. It needs choices that carry weight."
She immediately turned back to the computer and opened a fresh planning document. Her fingers began moving rapidly across the keyboard as she created new headings: Core Bond, Shared Mystery, Partner Variations, Battle Expression, and Essential Branches.
Zaboru watched her reorganise months of confusion within minutes. He had not given her the story, designed the mechanics, or solved the project for her. He had only changed the shape of the question. Instead of asking how she could fit everything into the game, Ayumi was finally asking what the game could not survive without.
"Zabo," she said without looking away from the screen, "I might become busy now."
Zaboru chuckled and leaned back in his chair. "That's fine. I'll stay here and accompany you."
Ayumi glanced at him. "But you won't help me?"
"I already helped you. From this point forward, you do the work."
She smiled warmly. That was exactly what she wanted. Zaboru had not taken control of her project or treated her like someone incapable of solving it. He had simply cleared the fog and allowed her to see the road herself.
As Ayumi continued typing, Zaboru picked up the empty shoebox and placed it beside her monitor as a quiet reminder. Whenever the project began expanding uncontrollably again, she only needed to look at it and remember one simple question.
What were the shoes?
Ayumi glanced at the box once, then returned to her new design map with an excited smile. She had spent weeks trying to save every idea.
Now, she finally understood which idea the entire game was supposed to save.
To be continued.
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