“Graphics again?”
“VR is a pain.”
“How about you take off your clothes?”
“The graphics are more than enough, hurry up with a fun game update.”
“It’s impossible for these people to make a fun game, lol.”
“Impossible?”
“Clothes.”
“If you can do 3D then how about an action game?”
“No way.”
“lol 0% chance”
“If they could do it, then we wouldn’t call them Konstopin.”
“That’s true.”
These comments were the unfiltered truth, which was exactly what made them so biting. Like the endless bubbles of a boiling pot, they enveloped the entirety of the stream’s comments section.
“...Can I turn this off?” Aya asked. Her conversation with Aina had lulled, so she reached for her phone.
“Stop!” Mirei barked, as if she was reacting to Aya’s hand. Her voice was commanding, like the ringing howl of a prideful wolf. “Very well. We ‘can only create games that aren’t fun as games,’ was it? Quite. Whatever the truth may be, the fact that our dear users see us in this manner is but another truth we must accept. Then, allow me to make a declaration: as luck would have it, we are participating in Summit.”
“...Mirei-sama?” Kinoyama was a single step too slow to stop Mirei, whose cheeks were flushed with anger as she pointed her finger at the camera, her hand close enough for viewers to make out her fingerprint on their screens.
The prideful wolf had been replaced by a hound whose tail had been trampled. Snarling in rage, she said, “Our opponent is the unaccomplished Meikun High. They may boast an ace illustrator in Kuroba Eru, but the overwhelming skill gap between our graphics is capable of scoring a victory all on its own... However—let me swear this to you—we shall not hold back! We shall create an action game that will bring honor to the Kongouin name! Is that clear?! Our work will leave you floored! All of you who left comments ought to prepare yourselves! If you understand your folly, then admit as much in the chat!”
“M-Mirei-sama,” asked Kinoyama, “what are you saying?!”
“Make way, Kinoyama! Hey! Don’t cut the—” With a quick bzt, the video feed went dark.
Silently, the members of the Meikun social game club looked up at one another. “...I guess they’re making a 3D action game over there. Looks like our recon work was a big hit. But...” Instead of her usual boredom, Aya’s brow was twitching with uncharacteristic anger. “Well, it’s not like I care either way, you know? This blonde-drilled runt can say whatever she wants, and it won’t hold a candle to the gacha... But ‘ace illustrator’? I can’t help but feel like this pipsqueak is forgetting something. It’s getting on my nerves how thoroughly she’s underestimating us...”
“I think she’s a teensy bit stupid,” Aina agreed, “but isn’t she still miles ahead of us? We haven’t decided on anything yet.” Right, Kai-kun? She didn’t say the last bit aloud, but Kai got the message. It was so obvious that it didn’t need to be said, and it wasn’t as if he could mount any sort of protest.
“E-Eru,” Nanaka said, shifting the conversation. “Do you have any ideas?”
Eru didn’t have her headphones on, but that hadn’t prevented her from remaining silent and sketching away in her sketchbook. She stopped her pen and took a moment to think before finally releasing the seal on her lips. “Nothing in particular... except...”
“Except?” Nanaka echoed.
“Our topic includes the word ‘Character,’ so I do believe our plan should include character illustrations,” Eru told them.
“...That’s fair.”
She’s completely right, Kai thought. The word ‘Character’ could also mean something akin to personality or individuality, and those interpretations were within the bounds of this Summit’s rules. However, he agreed with Eru that it was best to simply take the prompt at face value.
What’s more, Eru’s art was one of Meikun’s most powerful weapons. It wasn’t an option to leave her on the bench during a competition like Summit. Kai wasn’t the only one who held this opinion, either.
“Welp, we need characters to make a gacha,” Aya said.
“I need a character if I want to voice act,” Aina added.
The two girls—each of whom had, up to now, been off in their own world—gave their approval, and Nanaka nodded along. Eru shot a glare at Aina when she spoke, but the situation hadn’t escalated any further.
They’d finally decided that, at the very least, they would include character illustrations. From that point on, a ton of suggestions flew across the room (primarily from Aya and Aina), but none of the ideas were constructive, so the last of the thinking fell to Kai and Nanaka as the planners.
Technically, Aina’s position in the club was that of a planner as well, but she played the fool and said, “I’ll try and come up with more, but I already told you everything that came to mind. ♪” But after taking turns hurling out ideas with Aya, it was possible that Aina really was out of leads. Even if she offered something new, it was sure to wrap back to using her voice at some point.
A short train ride transported the group to Niigata Station, where they broke off to head home. Aya lived on the opposite side of the station, so she left through a different gate. Eru simply stated, “Bookstore,” and disappeared.
Aina lived in the same direction as the last two, but she split up early saying, “I have to buy groceries for dinner. Buh-bye! ♪” Kai figured Haruko had told her to do so, and found himself alone with Nanaka before he’d even realized it.
“Hey, Kai-kun?” she said, pointing her finger toward the only family restaurant near Niigata Station. She continued on to ask, “Do you wanna stop by and brainstorm some more?”
“For the proposal?” he clarified.
“Yup! I felt like all we’ve done so far is listen to Ah-chan and Aina-chan,” she confessed. “How about it?”
Kai didn’t have any reason to refuse, so the two of them made their way inside, where they kept their order to a pair of fountain drinks and french fries to snack on. The fries came out right away, so Kai watched their food and only went to fill up his drink after Nanaka had returned from doing so herself.