The meeting room was the same one they'd used last time—small, quiet, a little too warm, with that faint, stale "office carpet plus afternoon sun" smell. Evan sat on one side of the table, facing Tom Jacobs and Sasha Quinn, both of whom looked like they'd rushed over the second they got the message.
Evan gave them an apologetic smile.
"Sorry this didn't land in your inbox last night. Something came up on my end and completely derailed me. So—" he tapped two freshly printed booklets on the table, "—I'm giving you the proposal now, and we can just talk through everything directly."
Tom and Sasha each took a booklet. Sasha flipped hers open just enough to see the bold handwritten title across the first page.
"'Swallowing Heaven and Earth'?" she read aloud.
Evan nodded. "Yep. That's the official name of the web game we're building next."
There were only two people in the room with him, but Evan still felt that familiar rush—presenting a brand-new game idea always hit him right in the chest. Every time he talked about a project he was proud of, he got this warm, ridiculous, almost parental feeling, like he was showing off a brilliant kid.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table.
"Last night, when I started outlining this, I actually planned to make a pretty standard adventure loop. You know—divine beasts, equipment, leveling, story missions. The usual buffet. And honestly, I'm confident I could make that version better than what's already on the market."
He paused, tapping the table once, lightly.
"But I don't want this game to just succeed. I want it to define a new style. I want a future where, when people talk about this type of web game, ours is the first name they think of. The one that set the mold."
Tom and Sasha exchanged a look—half curious, half intrigued.
"So," Evan continued, "here's the core question: in all those leveling-and-grinding games we've played, when are players actually happiest?"
He didn't wait for an answer; he already had his rhythm.
"In games, everything revolves around feedback. If the feedback loop feels good, the game succeeds—simple as that. Feedback can be anything: the combat feel in a shooter, the thrill of pulling off a perfect combo, getting that legendary drop, stacking gold, beating a quiz segment, whatever. Games bombard players with positive reinforcement. That's how modern design works."
He spread his hands.
"But here's our problem: as a web game, we can't pile on endless features. For that, you need a big tech team, a big ops team, a PR team, 24/7 maintenance… We've got none of that. So the 'safe' approach—adding more and more features—isn't even an option."
Evan smiled faintly.
"So instead of addition, we're doing subtraction."
Tom raised an eyebrow. Sasha leaned in, curious.
"There's an old wuxia saying: if you want to be a grandmaster, either master all forms, or pick one path and perfect it until it's unmatched. We're choosing the latter. We won't chase everything. We'll take one type of feedback, one thing players love, and push it to the extreme."
He gestured at their copies.
"I won't spoil the rest—you'll see the details in the proposal. Look it over, and then we'll talk."
Evan took a sip of water and leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. But he wasn't resting. He reached into his pocket and brushed his fingers along the Reaper Server USB, diving mentally into that familiar coding flow.
Behind that calm exterior, he was already layering code—two projects at once. One was the upgraded multiplayer version of Killing Planet, which he'd already promised Director Tate. The other was the core architecture of Swallowing Heaven and Earth.
He wasn't making this web game just to make money. It was his work, his name, his reputation. And he had no intention of creating one of those cheap, shame-inducing cash-grab web games this world was infested with.
He wanted to tell the gamers in this world:
Web games can be masterpieces too.
Across from him, Sasha Quinn and Tom Jacobs were reading the proposal in silence, their brows gradually lifting as they flipped each page.
Everything Evan had told them earlier made sense, but hearing it laid out in such clear design logic—then seeing the plan expressed so methodically—hit differently. It was almost strange how simple the core concept looked on paper.
The design was basically a mutation of the collectible card systems that had exploded in Evan's previous world.
Players would start the game by drawing a Kun Beast or some other mythical creature. These divine beasts came in tiers—N, R, SR, UR—with the rarity displayed upfront. Stronger beasts were naturally harder to pull.
Each beast had its own moveset and level system. Skill upgrades required devouring beasts of the same category; leveling also required devouring beasts. The entire progression loop revolved around devouring, evolving, and fusing mythical creatures.
In addition, the game had a leveling and storyline system—not complex, but functional—giving players a place to use their beasts and something to work toward.
At first glance, the whole game felt almost too simple—so simple that both Tom and Sasha briefly wondered:
"Is this even enough content to be a game?"
"Would anybody actually enjoy this?"
But the more they read, the more that doubt melted away.
The proposal mapped out—in detail—the psychological reactions players would have from the moment they saw the game. For every possible mindset, there was a matching contingency plan. For every contingency, there were charts, data, examples, and reasoning.
The loop, the rewards, the player emotions—it was all airtight.
By the time they closed the last page, both felt the same odd mixture of disbelief and confidence. The design felt bizarrely unfamiliar… yet incredibly well-thought-out.
After sharing a mutual look, Sasha was the first to speak.
"Director Carter, the proposal's extremely thorough. I don't have anything to critique. And I'm pretty sure Tom feels the same." She nodded at him, and Tom nodded back wordlessly.
Sasha continued, tapping the cover.
"The concept is new, almost unfamiliar. But the way you've accounted for player retention—from the first second—they're very complete. It makes us confident. But all of that depends on one thing: where are we going to find enough players?"
Tom spoke up, serious as always.
"Yeah. The design is impeccable. Honestly, the last few pages with your hand-drawn interface mockups are so clear that the front-end and art teams could just follow them step-by-step. But… this whole thing only works if a lot of people show up. Some developers are geniuses at planning but terrible at promotion, and I'm worried we're heading down that path."
Evan gave them a calm, almost mischievous smile.
"Don't worry about that part. Just follow the plan exactly. As for getting players…"
He paused for effect.
"Trust me. I've already prepared everything."
Reach 300 powerstones for extra chapter.