‘Character’ and ‘Breath’—Kai had a feeling that he could now tie those two themes together. Between the two prompts, he had easily come to comprehend ‘Character,’ but truthfully, he had been stuck on ‘Breath’ this entire time. That may have been one of the reasons he hadn’t been able to make any progress.
If he connected the two literally, it would be ‘A character breathing.’ He imagined this concept as an animated character, breathing in and out. They might take deep, slow breaths, or they might go for a run and be panting. Either way, it came down to the sound of breath. Aya had laughed at his makeshift proposal of ‘A character blows up a balloon’ because it’d been a dumb idea that didn’t have any interesting twists—he knew that now.
To begin with, the characters weren’t alive. Illustrations were illustrations, and 3D models didn’t change that. However, ‘Breath’ was on the other end of the spectrum: it was unique to living beings. One could argue that this was exactly why you needed to breathe life into a character with a beautiful drawing, and that sounded well and good, but Kai had to wonder whether or not that was really the case.
He simply couldn’t bring himself to agree with that theory of character design. There had certainly been times when he had seen an overwhelmingly beautiful illustration and felt the character had come to life. With the skills of Kuroba Eru at their disposal, they may have even been able to replicate that effect. But in that case, there wasn’t any need for the rest of the social game club to be involved in making the app, which was unacceptable.
The final hint necessary to his overcoming this puzzle had been Kai’s LIME conversation with Nanaka.
If they were to breathe life into Eru’s art, they could put all their stock into polishing her drawings. They might animate them, or make use of 3D technology, like Kongouin Academy. There were a lot of avenues from which to choose, but in the end, they’d all come down to improving the quality of their visuals.
Meikun’s social game club was not an environment that had limitless time or unlimited capacity of expression, so Kai didn’t want to engage in a head-on battle with Kongouin Academy. He didn’t want to compare the raw quality of their assets.
Yet the moment he’d looked up at the moon beyond his window only to have Nanaka send him a photo of the same lunar body, he had felt it: on the other side of this tiny screen that fits neatly in my hand, she’s there, he’d thought. In her bedroom—which I’ve seen once before—she, too, has her phone in one hand as she gazes up to the same moon.
Of course, this had all been his imagination. Still, Nanaka’s sense of presence, as she may or may not have muttered, “It’s beautiful,” to herself, and her breath had been there. Strangely enough, that sense of closeness felt stronger than it might have had they been in the same room.
If he could cut out that one moment and turn it into a game, Kai pondered, wouldn’t that be the perfect way to convey the ‘Breath’ of a ‘Character’? This concluded the flash of inspiration Kai had gained from his conversation with Nanaka.
“...What do you think?” he asked cautiously, surveying the reactions of the others in the clubroom. Each of them read seriously through the five pages of content in his project proposal, and the first to raise her head was Aya.
“I think it’s fine,” she said. “Basically, this is a novel game that you play through a LIME system, right?”
“Y-Yeah, you can think of it that way,” Kai affirmed. “The main UI will be the same as LIME’s for the most part, and we’ll have a multiple-choice dialogue system for the messages. As the correspondence continues, we can have our character send pictures in the form of Kuroba-san’s illustrations, or have a phone call with Aina-san’s voice... That’s what I’m picturing, at least.”
“I’m so happy that I get to play a part! ♪” Aina said with a beaming smile. “Thanks, Kai-kun! I’ll do my best!”
“You’re the model, Nana-sen,” said Aya, shifting the conversation away from Aina’s role. “What do you think?”
“Huh?!” two voices exclaimed as Kai and Nanaka looked at each other and instantly averted their eyes.
“C’mon, senpai,” said Aya, goading Kai. “It’s obvious that you thought of this plan after messaging Nana-sen over LIME. Or, is there someone else you could’ve messaged...? Honestly, that would be a real shocker.”
“...Is she right?” Nanaka asked him.
Since it was true, there was no place for Kai to run or hide. Instead, he just quietly nodded his head in affirmation.
“I... see,” Nanaka stammered. Then she said, “Y-Yeah! I still think this is a great idea! Um... I’m just glad I could help!”
“Nanaka-chan,” Aina teased, “Your face is beet red, you know?”
“No, it’s—”
“I think this plan is fine.” Eru had been silently reading through the proposal, but suddenly dropped it onto the table and began to speak. “However...” she continued, inspecting Kai with a glare. Then her gaze quickly shot over to Aina and she declared, “So long as I’m in charge of the art, I will never let this tramp’s filthy voice dub over my dear characters.”
“But—” Out of the corner of his eye, Kai caught a glimpse of the bloodcurdling expression on Aina’s face. She looked like a rumbling volcanic crater ready to blow. He knew he had to cut into the conversation before she could open the curtains on this theater of war. “Why?” he asked.
“...I’ve already told you once before,” Eru hissed. “I hate the things that I hate. There’s no further reason than that.”
“That’s not an explanation,” Kai insisted.
“Oh, dear, shut up! Of course, it’s not—I don’t have any intention of explaining myself! Did you really think I would open up every nook and cranny of my heart if you just talked to me? At the very least, I don’t work like that. Not with you, and not with that witch next to you.”
“...I never thought anything that absurd,” Kai told her reassuringly. He didn’t mind if Eru hated him. It wasn’t as if he could think of anything he’d done to try and make her like him. He didn’t know what happened between her and Aina. No one had told him. But that wasn’t what they were talking about, here.
“Kuroba-san, I obviously don’t know what you were thinking when you said all this. If you don’t want to explain yourself, then that’s fine,” Kai told her. “However, if you won’t answer my questions, then I can’t take your side into consideration.
“This,” he said, gesturing to the papers scattered across the table. “Is a proposal I put together as a planner for the Meikun High Social Game Club. As clubmates, all of us are developing this game together. Kuroba-san,” he clarified, “that includes you. To that end, as a planner, I can’t accept your veto without any reasoning—without any explanation, just because you ‘hate’ the idea.”
“...Clubmates,” Eru muttered to herself, voice rich with incredulity. “I had a feeling you were similar, but... I’m done.”
“Eru,” Nanaka called out. “I... I think Kai-kun’s right, here. He thought it over and finally came up with a plan, so to just deny it like that... is wrong... I think that’s wrong, Eru.”
Although they were covered by her long bangs, it was plain to see that Eru’s eyes went wide upon hearing Nanaka refute her. She hung her head, and her hands began to shake. She inhaled a sharp, angry breath and looked up to display an expression even more furious than ever before. “...Nanaka,” she spat. “What on earth are you aiming for?! I—” She suddenly stopped, as if she had only just realized what she was doing.
No more words came out of her mouth. Instead, Eru snatched up her bag with a loud click of her tongue and left the clubroom.