Seoul, South Korea
Arcade Headquarters — 17th Floor
Content Development Department — 10:01 A.M.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft hydraulic hiss.
Vice President Choi Wonyoung stepped out first, moving with the relaxed confidence of someone who had spent years walking these halls as if they were an extension of his own office.
His hands rested in the pockets of his dark coat, but his eyes were alert—taking everything in.
Beside him walked Nelson Velázquez, quieter, his gaze drifting with contained curiosity.
The seventeenth floor felt… different.
It wasn't the disciplined rhythm of keyboards that dominated other departments.
Here—there was conversation.
Ideas in motion.
Screens floated midair, displaying three-dimensional maps, narrative diagrams, branching fate-lines connecting characters, kingdoms, and future wars.
Some writers argued in front of holographic boards, others sketched symbols with stylus pens while auxiliary AIs reorganized narrative structures in real time.
Wonyoung walked slowly between the desks, his head turning just slightly as he observed his creative team at work. Then, with a faint smile:
Choi Wonyoung: —"Alright… this is the Content Development Department."
He stopped in front of a massive digital board where multiple narrative lines intersected like glowing veins.
Choi Wonyoung: —"A lot of our employees say it's the heart of Arcade."
Velázquez lifted his gaze.
His eyes moved across the board, then the workstations, then the floating maps—like constellations of storylines suspended in air.
He frowned slightly, impressed.
Nelson:—"Those…" —he leaned forward just a bit, gesturing with his chin,—"are digital boards… diagrams… 3D maps and… AI?"
A visualization algorithm reshaped one of the narrative arcs in front of them, projecting possible war routes between two fictional continents.
Wonyoung followed the projection with calm interest.
Choi Wonyoung—"The best tools,"—he said, slowly crossing his arms,—"for the best writers."
Velázquez watched for a few more seconds.
Then he turned back to him.
His tone was curious—but direct.
Nelson:—"If you already have AI… why do you need writers, Vice President?"
Wonyoung let out a soft breath through his nose.
Not mockery.
More like someone who had heard that question far too many times.
He shifted slightly, leaning one shoulder against a nearby desk.
Choi Wonyoung: —"I get the question."
A nearby screen automatically projected narrative statistics—as if the system itself were listening.
Wonyoung waved it away with a casual flick.
Choi Wonyoung: —"AI can improve a lot of things… optimize systems… analyze patterns… even refine narrative structures."
He leaned in slightly.
Choi Wonyoung: —"But it doesn't have impulsive creative abstraction."
A brief pause.
Choi Wonyoung: —"It won't create something truly revolutionary… or disruptive."
His finger tapped the desk once.
Choi Wonyoung: —"AI doesn't invent new worlds."
He glanced around—toward the writers arguing over absurd theories.
Choi Wonyoung: —"It just perfects what already exists."
Velázquez crossed his arms slowly.
Thinking.
Nelson: —"What do you mean?"
Wonyoung straightened and resumed walking.
Velázquez followed.
As they moved, an AI updated a central narrative line—displaying a future war scenario with rising probability.
Wonyoung spoke without stopping.
Choi Wonyoung: —"We're aiming to win for decades."
They passed a writer arguing about underworld gods sponsoring players.
Choi Wonyoung: —"Not for months… not for years."
He stopped near a window overlooking Seoul.
Morning light traced the edge of his face.
Choi Wonyoung: —"That kind of longevity can only come from a human mind with vision."
He glanced back at the department.
Choi Wonyoung: —"Or in this case…"—he added, gesturing slightly,—"an elite creative team."
Velázquez exhaled slowly.
There was respect in his expression now.
Nelson: —"That's an impressive vision, Mr. Wonyoung."
The reaction was immediate.
A small, sharp expression of annoyance crossed Wonyoung's face.
Choi Wonyoung: —"I told you not to call me 'Mr.'"
He sighed.
Nelson: —"Whatever…"
He gestured toward the rest of the floor.
Choi Wonyoung: —"Want me to walk you through the rest?"
Velázquez looked once more at the department—
The writers.The boards.The living maps.
Then shook his head.
Nelson: —"No."
He slipped his hands into his pockets.
Nelson: —"But thanks for the tour."
Wonyoung studied him for a moment.
Then shrugged lightly.
Choi Wonyoung: —"It's nothing."
He turned, that same effortless composure in his step.
Choi Wonyoung: —"Just being courteous."
Velázquez dipped his head slightly.
Nelson: —"Still—thank you."
Wonyoung walked a few steps… then stopped.
He glanced back over his shoulder.
His eyes were sharper now.
Choi Wonyoung: —"Alright."
A faint smile touched his lips.
Choi Wonyoung: —"Show me why they picked you, Mr. Velázquez."
Velázquez held his gaze.
No smile.
Nelson: —"I'll try, Vice President."
For a second, neither spoke.
Then Wonyoung continued toward the elevator.
And Velázquez stayed—watching the creative heart of Arcade beating in front of him.
10:04 A.M.
The murmur of the department never truly faded.
It wasn't just typing or mouse clicks—it was conversation, laughter, debate, the occasional outburst from someone who had just struck gold.
At the center of the main area, modular tables formed a loose circle. Above them floated holographic panels—narrative diagrams, fictional continents, branching decision trees spreading like digital roots.
As Nelson Velázquez stepped into the workspace, several heads turned at once.
Some already knew who he was.
Others were simply curious.
The team leader—a sharp-eyed woman with round glasses—set her stylus down and stood up naturally. One hand rested on her hip as she pointed at him with the marker.
—"Everyone—say hello to our department's Creative Advisor."
A few chairs rolled back.
Some raised a hand casually, others nodded.
—"Welcome."
Velázquez lifted a hand modestly, almost uncomfortable with the attention.
Nelson: —"Thanks… though I don't deserve it."
A young man sitting backward on his chair, rocking lazily, let out a short laugh.
—"He's right."
A couple of coworkers shot him warning looks.
—"Suho!"
The young man dropped the chair legs to the floor with a light thud, shrugging as he raised both hands.
Suho: —"What?"—he said casually.—"I didn't say anything no one else was thinking."
Velázquez looked at him a second longer than necessary.
Then recognition lit up his eyes.
He leaned slightly forward.
Nelson: —"You're Song Suho… author of Martial Ascendancy?"
The young man's expression changed instantly.
His grin sharpened.
Arms crossed, satisfied.
Suho Song: —"Well… at least the guy's got some taste."
The team leader spun the marker in her hand, mildly annoyed.
—"Suho!"
He clicked his tongue.
Suho Song: —"What? I'm not wrong… I'm the best one here."
From across the table, a woman turned slowly in her chair, one elbow resting on the armrest. Behind her, a screen displayed dense mythological diagrams.
—"That's what you always say,"—she replied dryly,—"but I don't see your ideas standing out."
Velázquez turned toward her immediately.
Nelson: —"You're Park Jinseol. Author of Odyssey of Myths."
She raised a brow.
Then smiled—elegant, slightly ironic.
Park Jinseol: —"Well… looks like I've got a new admirer."
From the far end, the team leader tapped the table lightly.
—"Miss Park. Professionalism."
A tall man with dark hair, reviewing a projected clan structure, looked up over his glasses.
Velázquez barely needed a second.
Nelson: —"Takanaka Yusuke. Legacy of the Northern Clan."
The man inclined his head politely.
Takanaka Yusuke: —"That's correct. Thank you."
Velázquez shifted his gaze again.
Another desk.
A woman with a half-finished cup of tea, multiple narrative threads open across her laptop.
She was already watching him.
Nelson: —"And you…"—Nelson gestured slightly, —"Ozawa Hakary. Naito's Journey."
Ozawa sighed—part patience, part professional exhaustion.
She closed her laptop.
Hakary Ozawa: —"That's enough, Advisor," —she said as she stood.— "If you keep listing everyone's best work, this is going to take all day."
Voices chimed in immediately.
—"Hey, I want a compliment too."
—"Yeah, that's not fair."
—"We're all working like zombies here—boosting morale helps."
The team leader raised a hand.
Silence.
Velázquez lifted both hands in surrender.
Nelson: —"Sorry—I got carried away," —he said with a genuine smile.— "It's my first time being surrounded by narrative elite."
The team leader chuckled softly.
—"Relax," —she said, crossing her arms.—"You're exaggerating. It's not like we invented a genre."
From the back, Suho's voice rang out again—proud as ever.
Suho Song: —"You shut it, Miss Sua. I am part of the narrative elite."
Sua didn't even hesitate.
Sua: —"Shut up, Suho!."
A digital notebook suddenly flew across the room.
With sharp reflexes, he caught it one-handed, laughing.
Suho Song: —"Alright, alright—no need to get violent."
Velázquez watched the exchange with amused curiosity.
Nelson: —"So… the Content Development Department…" —he said,— "is it always this lively?"
Ozawa rested a hand on the back of her chair.
Her expression shifted—more serious now.
Hakary Ozawa:—"Not always."
She crossed her arms, leaning slightly forward.
Hakary Ozawa: —"Get ready for sleepless nights. Overtime. Rotating day and night shifts every week."
Velázquez nodded slowly.
Nelson: —"Yeah… sounds like Asia," —he said.— "Still rough, though."
Jinseol raised her coffee cup as if making a toast.
Park Jinseol: —"At least we get paid well."
She set it down, then looked at the others.
Park Jinseol: —"Alright… time to do what we talked about."
Velázquez frowned slightly.
Nelson: —"What are you going to do?"
Suho pushed his chair back with energy.
Behind them, the central holographic board lit up—displaying an incomplete narrative structure riddled with red lines.
The team leader pointed at it with her stylus.
Sua: —"It's a test."
A timer appeared midair.
[39:59]
She looked straight at him.
Sua: —"You've got less than an hour to fix this narrative problem."
A small smile formed on her lips.
Sua: —"Good luck."