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"Leo... this isn't just good," Aki Tomoya breathed, his voice barely a whisper as he stared at the illustration on the desk. "This is professional level. No, scratch that—even among the pros, you'd be standing at the top of the food chain."
Tomoya looked like a man who had just found water in a desert. He was internally spiraling. His original plan—to rope his childhood friend and art prodigy, Eriri Spencer Sawamura, into his project—had hit a brick wall a few days ago. She had shut him down cold.
He had planned to beg her again, mostly because he couldn't draw a stick figure to save his life. But now? Now there was a new player in the game.
Leo Vance sat there, casually twirling a blue Prismacolor pencil between his fingers. The drawing in front of him was a soft, dreamlike portrait of a fantasy heroine, rendered with such delicate lighting that she seemed to glow. It was a style that blew Eriri's sharp, frantic energy out of the water.
Hooked, Leo thought, watching the desperation flicker in Tomoya's eyes. He's already doing the math. He thinks he's found a replacement for his 'unstable time bomb' of a childhood friend.
"You look like you're carrying the weight of the world, Tomoya," Leo said, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed, open posture. "Something on your mind?"
Tomoya blinked, snapping out of his trance. He adjusted his glasses nervously. "I... yeah. I guess I am in a bit of a bind. But I think I can solve it."
"Don't bottle it up, man," Leo said, his voice dropping to a reassuring, brotherly register. "If it's bullying, let me know. I do boxing back in the States. I can handle a few punks."
"No, no! It's nothing like that," Tomoya waved his hands frantically. "It's... a creative problem."
"Oh?" Leo crossed his arms, giving him an encouraging nod. "Well, lay it on me. You know what they say—two heads are better than one. Sometimes you just need a fresh perspective."
Tomoya hesitated, then dropped his schoolbag to the floor with a heavy thud. He looked around to make sure no one was listening, then leaned in close.
"Okay, so... during the last holiday, I had this encounter," Tomoya began, his eyes lighting up with that fanatical otaku gleam. "I was walking up this long slope, and I saw a girl. The wind blew her hat off... and for a second, it was perfect. It felt like destiny. I want to recreate that feeling. I want to make the ultimate romance game based on that moment."
Leo nodded slowly, keeping his expression serious. Internally, he was rolling his eyes. The flying hat scene. Right. The most cliché opening in the history of visual novels.
"So, you want to build a game," Leo said, cutting to the chase. "That's ambitious. But game dev isn't a solo gig. Are you serious about this?"
Hearing the doubt in Leo's voice, Tomoya straightened up, defensive. "Of course I'm serious! I know it won't be easy. Right now, the 'production team' is literally just me. But I'm going to make it happen."
"Respect the hustle," Leo said. "Though I gotta be honest, I don't know much about dating sims. I'm more of a AAA RPG guy. Give me The Witcher 3, Skyrim, or Devil May Cry any day. I like open worlds and combat systems."
Tomoya didn't look offended; in fact, he looked impressed. "I know The Elder Scrolls! That's a masterpiece of the genre. And The Witcher... that's the pride of Poland. Those are legitimate examples of the 'Ninth Art.' You've got top-tier taste, Leo."
It made sense to Tomoya. Leo looked like the kind of guy who played high-octane action games, not slow-burn romances. He was an "experience-oriented" player.
"Back in the States, visual novels are pretty niche," Leo continued, setting the trap. "So, break it down for me. What kind of team do you actually need to pull this off?"
Tomoya rubbed his chin, counting on his fingers. "A small circle. A few people. I need a scenario writer for the script, an illustrator for the character art and CGs, and a programmer for the scripting engine. Music... well, we can recruit someone or outsource it later. But outsourcing gets expensive."
"The barrier to entry isn't too high for a VN," Leo agreed. "If you ignore voice acting and custom music for a second, a team of five people could probably ship a demo."
"Exactly! Five is plenty."
Leo leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, his blue eyes locking onto Tomoya's. The air around them seemed to get heavier.
"Okay. So let's talk numbers," Leo said, his tone shifting from casual friend to business pragmatist. "What's your burn rate? What's the budget for the project?"
Tomoya froze. "Budget?"
"Yeah. Production costs," Leo said, ticking points off on his fingers. "Writers need to eat. Artists need supplies and time. Programmers don't work for free. Even a low-budget indie game costs money. How much salary are you planning to pay your team?"
Tomoya's breath hitched. He looked like he'd been punched in the gut.
The question struck the core of his "plan." He didn't have a budget. His entire strategy relied on freeloading. He wanted to use Eriri (a wealthy diplomat's daughter) and Utaha (a best-selling author) because they were already successful. He assumed they would do it for the "passion"—or because they liked him. He wanted to leverage their fame to lure in a programmer, and then... figure the rest out later.
His role was just to be the "producer"—the lubricant in the machine. He hadn't thought about paying anyone a single yen.
Leo watched the color drain from Tomoya's face. He knew exactly what the guy's financial situation was. Tomoya was a popular blogger with millions of hits, but he didn't run ads. He worked part-time jobs just to buy Blu-rays and figures. He was broke.
"I did some research last night," Leo continued, twisting the knife with a smile. "A standard dating sim, even without voice acting, usually runs about three to four million yen (approx. $25,000 to $35,000) just for labor and assets. If you want full voice acting and an original score? You're looking at six to eight million yen ($50,000+). That's two years of a salaryman's income."
Leo paused, letting the silence stretch.
"So, Tomoya... unless you've got a rich uncle or you're planning on winning the lottery, how exactly are you going to pay for this dream?"
Tomoya opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The harsh, cold reality of the adult world had just crashed into his otaku fantasy. Without free labor, his project was dead on arrival.
And Leo was the only one holding the calculator.
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