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"Give me ten minutes."
Ethan Reed looked straight at Daniel and spoke with a calm seriousness that made it sound like a promise and a warning at the same time.
Daniel didn't ask questions. He simply nodded.
Beside them, Vivian Frost rose from the boss chair and slid it back like she was stepping out of the driver's seat to let a professional take the wheel.
"Go ahead," she said, tone soft but trusting.
Ethan sat down. The chair still held the faint warmth of Vivian's body, and for a brief second he felt the weirdest kind of pressure—like he wasn't just borrowing her seat, he was borrowing the weight of the entire company.
Then he exhaled, focused, and opened the System.
The interface flickered into existence like a private overlay only he could see. Clean. Minimal. Cold. And absolutely unreal—like a secret weapon hidden behind a normal man's eyes.
He didn't hesitate.
He clicked Purchase.
After obtaining the complete framework for Neon Myth IV and pulling its music library from the Fourth Vault, Ethan had still managed to stockpile nearly 70,000 Emotion Points over time.
Animal Party cost 65,000.
Cheap… but not weak.
A casual game didn't mean a small idea. It just meant it didn't pretend to be something it wasn't.
Ethan confirmed the buy.
The System responded instantly.
Information poured into him—not words, not files, but something deeper. Designs, mechanics, timing, physics, flow. A complete blueprint that settled into his mind like it had always been there.
Ten minutes passed.
When Ethan opened his eyes again, his expression had changed.
The worry was still there—just buried under clarity.
"Boss," he said, turning to Vivian, "I need your computer."
Vivian blinked, then nodded quickly. "Oh—yeah. Yeah, take it."
Ethan powered it up, cracked his knuckles once, and started working.
Daniel leaned in—just a little—because he couldn't help himself.
And then he froze.
Ethan's left hand moved across the keyboard like a machine on overdrive, while his right hand guided the mouse with surgical precision. Windows opened, layers stacked, draft files multiplied. Rough sketches became clean shapes. Clean shapes became readable characters. Readable characters became a pipeline.
It wasn't just speed.
It was control.
Daniel felt his throat go dry.
A genius… no. A real genius.
Ethan didn't even look up when he spoke again.
"Start with this." He pointed at a design sheet forming on-screen. "Have the programming team follow my logic and build the base behavior. The physics and collision rules need to feel goofy but consistent."
He clicked again, opened another tab.
"As for the engine," he continued, "this one will do. We don't need cinematic graphics. We need responsive movement, tight feedback, and clean netcode."
He paused, finally glancing at Daniel.
"I'll handle the characters and scene models with the art team. Programming is on you."
Daniel straightened instantly like he'd been given a battlefield command.
"Yes."
He didn't waste a second.
He spun around and left the office at a near jog.
---
In the open workspace, Daniel reached his station, pulled up Ethan's email, and scanned the attachments.
Then he stepped into the aisle and raised his voice.
"Everyone! Stop what you're doing for a moment!"
Heads turned. Chairs creaked. Keyboards went quiet.
"We're starting a new game. Effective immediately. All programmers—come to me first. Art team—stand by. Ethan will brief you soon."
The room buzzed.
Confusion first.
Then curiosity.
Then excitement.
Northstar Games had built its reputation on doing the impossible with small budgets. People liked being part of something that felt like a gamble—because when you won, it felt like you'd beaten the whole industry.
---
Back in the office, Vivian sat at the edge of the desk, arms folded, watching Ethan work like she was watching a magician cheat reality.
"Ethan…" she asked cautiously, "is this going to be the same kind of style as Getting Through?"
Her nose wrinkled slightly, like she could still smell the trauma of players raging at that game.
From her perspective, this new project felt rushed. Almost reckless.
She feared it would come out cheap.
Ethan snorted once.
"No."
He didn't even need to think about it.
"The production budget for this is over ten times what Getting Through had."
Vivian blinked. "Ten times?"
Ethan leaned back slightly and finally stopped moving his hands.
"In my opinion," he said, voice steady, "Animal Party has brilliant gameplay. It's social chaos done right."
Then his tone shifted—more annoyed, more personal.
"But the way the original developers handled it?" He let out a short laugh. "They made me laugh until I got angry."
Vivian tilted her head. "Why?"
Ethan's eyes narrowed like he was replaying an old disappointment.
"They kept obsessing over perfection. They treated it like a surgical project, not a party game. They polished it for years."
He tapped the desk once.
"Years… for what? A few more maps and slightly better models?"
Vivian didn't interrupt, but Daniel wasn't there now, so Ethan finally let his thoughts spill without filtering.
"The biggest problem wasn't passion," Ethan said. "It was priorities."
He pointed at his own notes.
"A party game's lifespan is short. People play it to laugh with friends, not to admire the stitching on a costume."
He leaned forward, voice sharper.
"And then they did the worst thing."
Vivian swallowed. "What?"
"They passed all that wasted polishing cost onto the players."
Ethan held up two fingers like evidence in court.
"Ninety-eight. That was the price. Deluxe version even higher."
He scoffed.
"For that money, players can buy discounted AAA games with massive campaigns."
He spread his hands.
"How long can you play a goofy party game? How long can you play a full AAA title?"
Vivian's lips parted like she wanted to argue, but she couldn't.
Because Ethan wasn't wrong.
Ethan continued, more practical now.
"I'm not doing that."
He tapped the list again.
"We reduce graphic cost. We reduce unnecessary detail. We increase action feedback. We invest more into servers so people don't lag out. And we add variety—modes that keep people coming back for a few weeks."
He counted them off.
"Combat mode. Basketball mode. Ice hockey mode."
Vivian's eyes widened with each one.
"And pricing?" she asked.
Ethan smiled slightly.
"Around 35."
Vivian blinked again, but this time with relief.
"That cheap?"
"It's not cheap," Ethan corrected. "It's reasonable."
He leaned back.
"Servers and updates aren't free. But we're not robbing players to pay for our mistakes."
Vivian slowly nodded.
"Okay…" she murmured. "That actually sounds fun."
Then she looked up, curious now, not worried.
"So it's… a team battle game you play with friends?"
"Yes," Ethan said.
Then his eyes sparked with a new thought—dangerous energy.
"And speaking of playing together…"
He smiled.
"I have another game idea."
Vivian's spine stiffened instantly.
"No."
He hadn't even said the name yet.
Vivian shook her head hard.
"Too much. We won't finish it. We do Animal Party first."
Ethan clicked his tongue, disappointed like a kid told he couldn't buy candy.
Vivian noticed the expression and frowned.
"What's that face?"
Ethan sighed dramatically.
"I'm just thinking… I'm too talented. The company limits my potential."
Vivian stared.
Ethan kept going, half joking, half truthful.
"There are too many games I can make."
Vivian didn't argue.
Instead, she looked suddenly guilty.
"Then… we'll hire more people later," she said softly.
Ethan paused.
Northstar Games had started to reshape itself around him. The awards. The nominations. The way Getting Through and Nightfall Moon became miracles of small investment and big returns.
Ethan was a wildcard genius.
Vivian knew it.
And she didn't want to be the chain that held him back.
Ethan saw her expression sink and quickly waved it off.
"Boss, relax. I was kidding. Making even one new game is exhausting."
Vivian didn't laugh.
"I wasn't kidding," she said seriously. "If we were a big company… we could develop multiple projects at once."
Ethan blinked, caught off guard.
Then he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.
"…Then we work hard together."
Vivian's eyes brightened.
"Mm."
---
That night, Northstar Games posted on both the Official Blog and BiliZone.
Three character images.
A green, toy-like alligator.
A corgi.
An otter.
All of them had that goofy, soft charm that made people want to punch their friends… playfully.
The caption read:
"Due to the boss's terrible money management, we're developing a new game. Please look forward to it!"
Within thirty minutes, the replies exploded.
"???"
"Bro… where's my Neon Myth IV news?! I waited a month for this!"
"Is this a kids' game? These characters are adorable, not gonna lie."
"Official account admin—come out! Explain what you mean by 'terrible money management'!"
"And where's Ethan? Why isn't he posting? Admin, help us drag that guy out!"
Then the most repeated question hit the top like a hammer:
"Hey… WHERE IS MY MAGIC SWORD?"
Because millions of single-player fans were still waiting.
Still watching.
Still hoping.
And now they were afraid.
Afraid that the dream would be delayed.
Or worse—
That it would die before it was born.
End of Chapter 26
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Extra chapters available on patreon ❤️🔥
patreon.com/Samurai492
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