Late June.
Northstar Games.
If anyone asked Vivian Frost what her life had been like recently, her answer would be simple.
Busy.
Very busy.
Painfully busy.
She had always believed that being a boss meant doing one thing and one thing only—providing money.
After that, employees would magically design games, polish mechanics, fix bugs, and deliver masterpieces… while the boss relaxed, drank coffee, and waited to earn profits.
That had always been her role.
Until now.
Now?
She had somehow been reduced to Ethan Reed's first employee.
That realization alone made her stomach hurt.
Yes, technically she was still working for her own company—but the feeling was undeniably strange.
What kind of boss gets assigned tasks by her own employee?
Vivian stared blankly at the office ceiling, deeply questioning her life choices.
---
In the open office area, Ethan Reed's computer screen glowed brightly. Dense lines of code filled the display, scrolling endlessly—logic, frameworks, functions, systems.
To Vivian, it all looked like alien language.
She sat beside him, also in front of a computer.
But unlike Ethan, her screen was filled with text.
Her task was simple, yet exhausting:
writing stories for every monster and character in the game.
Ethan had already outlined the world structure, timelines, and emotional direction. Vivian's job was to flesh those outlines out—assigning backgrounds, memories, regrets, and motives to each monster.
Because monsters didn't exist just to block players.
Behind every monster, there was a story.
A reason.
A past.
On the surface, it looked like Vivian was handling the main plot.
But in reality, every core narrative thread was controlled by Ethan. Vivian was responsible only for the side stories—yet those side stories were what gave the world its soul.
Through Ethan's explanations, Vivian had gradually come to understand the world of Night of the Full Moon.
It looked like a fairy tale.
But beneath the surface—
It was tragedy after tragedy.
The monsters weren't born evil.
They were shaped by misunderstanding, fear, and fate.
And now, Vivian had completely lost focus.
She shoved her keyboard aside, leaned back in her chair, turned her head, and stared at Ethan as he typed.
"Hey," she said.
Ethan didn't respond.
"Hey," she repeated, louder.
Still nothing.
Vivian narrowed her eyes, then spoke with a dangerous calm.
"Does Little Carpenter really have to be the most tragic character in the entire game?"
Ethan's fingers paused—just for a fraction of a second.
Vivian continued, her voice rising.
"When I bought you food, you promised me you'd give Little Carpenter a good ending. But now? I've read everything. His ending is still miserable!"
"With every reincarnation, other characters get better outcomes. You even saved the grandmother."
She slapped the desk.
"So why can't you save Little Carpenter? He's already suffered enough!"
Ethan finally spoke—without turning his head.
"What do you mean I didn't save him?" he said calmly.
"Didn't I already tell you how players can save him?"
Vivian froze.
"…That counts?!"
---
Ethan actually sympathized with Little Carpenter.
In every reincarnation, the boy lived in solitude—misunderstood, isolated, constantly feeling inferior.
Later, he sacrificed himself to protect Little Red Riding Hood.
His love was buried deep in his heart, never spoken aloud.
The reason was cruelly simple.
He was a descendant of werewolves.
He hated that part of himself.
He feared exposure.
He feared rejection.
And so, when the truth drew near, he fled into the forest—ignoring Little Red Riding Hood's cries as she chased after him.
And in the end…
He died protecting her.
Using the very identity he despised most.
Dying with a smile.
Vivian's eyes reddened just thinking about it.
After learning Little Carpenter's story, her protective instincts had been completely triggered.
For three days straight, she had harassed Ethan relentlessly.
"If you won't change the ending, then add another playthrough!"
"You already have eight or nine routes—what's one more?!"
"Just one happy ending! You monster!"
"Would it kill you to make something easier for players?!"
Ethan refused every time.
Because he understood something fundamental.
Imperfection makes stories unforgettable.
An incomplete ending leaves scars.
And scars stay with players far longer than happy conclusions.
It was cruel.
Low-handed.
But undeniably effective.
That said, Ethan did compromise.
He secretly added a resurrection route for Little Carpenter.
But whether players ever discovered it…
That depended entirely on them.
The route was so deeply hidden that it bordered on absurdity.
Vivian slumped over her desk.
"That doesn't count as a solution!" she protested.
"Do you even understand the language you wrote? It's not human—it's pure keyboard nonsense!"
"No one will ever decipher that!"
"If no one does," Ethan replied flatly,
"then the first version of Night of the Full Moon will also be its last."
Vivian's eyes filled with tears.
"Wuwuwu… I regret buying you food."
"If I had known this was your 'solution,' I would've let you starve!"
The more she understood the story, the more she pitied Little Carpenter.
He loved Little Red Riding Hood because she stood up for him when he was bullied as a child.
Yet he ran away from her.
Died for her.
And never told her the truth.
One tear scene alone would destroy players emotionally.
And with Ethan's art direction?
It would be lethal.
Vivian sniffed.
"This is supposed to be a fairy tale…"
Then she sighed.
"…Right. A dark fairy tale."
She straightened up and returned to typing.
Work was work.
---
The afternoon passed like this.
Typing.
Coding.
Arguing.
Typing again.
In the evening, Vivian responsibly went out to buy dinner.
Meanwhile, Ethan received files from Mooncrest Studio.
True to their reputation, they delivered exactly on time.
Over a hundred monster designs filled the folder.
Ethan reviewed them carefully.
They weren't identical to the designs in his memory—but that wasn't a flaw.
Mooncrest's artists were skilled. Their color usage was excellent, blending cartoon charm with subtle darkness—perfect for a wide audience.
After a moment of reflection, Ethan made his decision.
These were better.
When Vivian returned carrying two rice boxes—one with stir-fried meat, one with mushrooms—she placed the meat-filled box on Ethan's desk.
Then opened her own.
And immediately began stealing meat from his box.
"Boss," she said casually,
"next time, please buy two portions with meat."
"I love mushrooms," she added—while eating meat.
"…Then why didn't you just buy a meat-and-mushroom stir-fry?" Ethan asked.
"No," Vivian replied seriously.
"Mushrooms alone cost 11 yuan. Meat and mushrooms cost 16."
"That's five yuan saved."
She nodded firmly.
"I'm poor now."
The money from her mother was gone.
Mooncrest had eaten it all.
She had just over 1,300 yuan left.
Every coin mattered.
Ethan stared at her.
"…Can you at least give me two slices of mushroom?"
"Eat your own food!" Vivian snapped, shielding her lunchbox.
"Who steals food from their boss?! You're worse than a boss who flips tables!"
They ate in silence.
After a while, Ethan spoke.
"Mooncrest's work is usable. No revisions needed."
Vivian's eyes lit up.
"Then… can I try the game soon?"
"Tomorrow afternoon," Ethan replied.
"After that, we'll fix bugs and set the release date."
"July 5th."
Vivian beamed.
The game was almost ready.
She clenched her fist excitedly.
Night of the Full Moon.
A different kind of card game.
And soon—
Players would step into the forest.
-----------------------------------
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