Making Game: CH 143 – Jungle of Problems (Patreon)

BOOM!

The reinforced floor of the motion capture studio shuddered violently as Arthur slammed the giant greatsword replica into the padded target zone.

He stood in the center of the grid wearing a tight black mocap suit, covered from head to toe in glowing tracking sensors that Lin Liseli and her technical team had painstakingly attached. Through the glass observation booth, Liseli gave him an energetic thumbs up, signaling that every single frame of the heavy downward strike had been captured with pristine accuracy.

Floating invisibly beside him, Ares folded his arms in utter disdain. "That is hardly how a warrior wields a weapon. At that point, you might as well throw away the steel and fight barehanded."

Arthur kept his face neutral so the staff would not think he was talking to thin air. In his mind, he could hardly argue with the God of War's combat logic. The entire design philosophy of Monster Hunter centered on ordinary mortals confronting titanic, godlike beasts. 

That dramatic contrast became even more prominent when players stepped into the boots of a hunter swinging an oversized, seemingly impractical slab of iron. The Greatsword was completely ridiculous from a realistic tactical standpoint, yet players who craved massive damage numbers for the sheer thrill of heavy impacts would fall head over heels for it.

Arthur wiped the sweat from his brow and let out a long breath. "Wooo! Alright, what's next on the list?"

Two stagehands rolled a heavy reinforced rack onto the floor. When they took the greatsword model and set it in place, their arms strained under the weight, reminding every employee in the room that their young CEO was an active Solar. What specific path Arthur walked remained a complete mystery to them, serving as a constant topic of speculation during lunch breaks.

The next weapon model was wheeled onto the platform.

Ares turned his head, his fiery eyes flashing with sudden curiosity. "Ah, a gunlance."

Arthur smirked, raising an eyebrow slightly in the god's direction.

Ares scoffed. "What? It is an intriguing contraption. It could provide marvelous entertainment for bloody gladiatorial combat. For a real war, however..."

Ares left the practical flaws of the design unsaid. There was no need to finish the thought anyway, because Arthur was building an interactive game for entertainment, not crafting tools for actual planetary warfare.

An assistant hurried over and handed Arthur a cold bottle of water. Arthur took a grateful sip, rolling his shoulders and loosening his elbow joints. "Thank you."

He set the bottle aside and firmly gripped the heavy gunlance prop, resting the wide shield against his forearm.

In the booth, Liseli leaned into her microphone. "Alright, everyone. Gunlance motion test. Take one for the basic idle animation in three... two... one..."

Standing off to the side near the observation balcony, Raja Farzir stared intently at his heliopad screen.

The data streaming across his display was the direct result of an emergency investigation conducted by his senior, Ratik Courtie. Following the sudden revelation that high-society syndicates were actively targeting the composer Percival, Ratik had instantly triggered a studio-wide code red, quietly mobilizing every intelligence asset, informant, and contact at her disposal.

The resulting digital trail revealed a terrifying web of power that Raja had zero desire to touch. What sat in his hands right now was merely a surface-level glossary of the players involved, a brief summary of a much darker, deeper conflict. When Ratik had sent him the file, her only message had been a brief, calm note: I will handle this.

That simple sentence was a stark reminder to Raja of how much further he needed to grow to protect his side of Dorian's gaming industry.

Raja let out a quiet sigh, locking his datapad screen. Looking back through the glass at Arthur swinging the mechanical lance, Raja felt a strange sense of relief that his primary responsibility was simply outmaneuvering the clumsy, transparent schemes of rival gaming studio executives.

…

Meanwhile, lightyears away, Ratik Courtie stood alone in her secure office and tapped the face of her communication wristband.

A shimmering blue hologram flickered to life. The projected image of Maestro Gil Nothos appeared, leaning comfortably in a wooden chair and sipping a steaming cup of Friton teebu. The cheerful voices of children playing could be clearly heard in the background. It seemed the legendary Maestro was spending his peaceful retirement entirely focused on his great-grandchildren.

"It has been quite a while since you called me, Ratik," Gil said, a warm smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"It has been a while, Maestro," Ratik replied, her posture respectful.

Gil took another slow sip of his teebu. "Tell Dorian he is free to play the Stradus the next time he visits. Oh, and make absolutely sure he brings his family's teebu. My last batch is almost completely gone."

"I will pass along the message," Ratik nodded. "I truly wish I was calling under better circumstances, Maestro. I am in dire need of something specific."

Gil lowered his cup. The warmth vanished from his expression, replaced by the sharp intuition of an industry veteran. "What is going on? Is the kid okay?"

"I cannot say much over an encrypted line," Ratik answered carefully. "I need leverage. I need something heavy enough to force open a door on the trail I have been following."

"Whose door?" Gil asked.

"Vaerdin Gagnal."

Gil narrowed his eyes in deep thought. "Vaerdin. Hmm, it has been a while since I heard that name. The last I heard, he stepped down from his position at Juniper Records."

"Yes," Ratik confirmed. "He left behind a massive mountain of debt that the current CEO is still mulling over."

Gil scoffed lightly. "Everything that man touches turns into shit the moment he leaves. He and his investor friends pulled out with billions of credits, leaving the company to burn." Gil leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Does the kid know about this?"

Ratik shook her head firmly.

"You want to handle this completely alone," Gil stated.

"No, I am only going to investigate," Ratik clarified. "I just need a piece of dirt severe enough to make Vaerdin talk."

"Are you entirely sure about this, Ratik?" Gil warned, his tone grave. "There are a lot of incredibly powerful people standing right behind Vaerdin."

"I am sure," Ratik said without hesitation. "As you always taught me, I will ensure none of this can ever trace back."

Gil sighed heavily, rubbing his chin. "Then take the contacts of the old acquaintances I still have in the core sector. I will tell them to coordinate directly with you. Now, regarding Vaerdin. Forty years ago, there was a buried cold case regarding a woman jumping out of a building..."

…

BOOM!!

The padded floor of the mocap studio shook one final time as the heavy hammer slammed down with the raw, brutal fury of a seasoned hunter.

The last weapon on the list had officially been captured.

Arthur let the prop hammer rest on the mat, breathing heavily as the tracking sensors pulsed around him. He finally noticed Raja standing off to the side of the testing grid. Arthur handed the heavy prop to a nearby assistant and waved his hand.

"Raja!" Arthur called out, walking over to the glass barrier. "What are you doing here? How was the factory inspection?"

"The construction is still steadily on progress," Raja reported, holding his datapad tight against his chest. "There was a bit of a hiccup regarding the zoning radius. Thankfully, I was there to straighten things out with the local authorities."

Arthur wiped a towel over his face and smiled. "I am glad everything worked out well, then. What is that?"

Arthur pointed to the datapad in Raja's hand.

Raja hesitated for a fraction of a second before handing the device over. "These are the preliminary reports. Senior Ratik is handling the core investigation on her own end. The digital trail directly points toward a certain Qerrian CEO you've pissed off."

Arthur scrunched up his face in deep thought. As the composer Percival, he had crossed paths with hundreds of influential figures across endless galas, award shows, and corporate parties.

Then, a single face popped into his mind.

Ezil Zesel. The CEO of Zesel Music Entertainment.

Dorian stared at the encrypted data on the screen, a cold weight settling heavily into his stomach. He lowered the datapad and muttered under his breath.

"Fuck."

…

Several days had passed. The weekend had finally arrived, and Ross Dalle was taking a rare evening off.

The night air on the colony world of Flecco was incredibly humid. Ross himself hardly minded the heavy atmosphere. He had just finished eating a hearty meal at a newly opened restaurant in the commercial district. Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Ross walked toward the counter to pay his bill.

Suddenly, the server shifted from behind the register and moved directly in front of the front door. The staff member stood there with a rigid posture, guarding the exit as if fully expecting Ross to flee without paying.

Ross maintained his polite, gentle smile. "How much is the bill?"

The staff member stared at him with an incredibly weird expression. It looked like pure disgust. Ross quickly shook his head, convincing himself he was simply overthinking the situation. He reached into his coat and pulled out a crisp stack of universal Accord credits.

The server crossed his arms tightly. "Local credit only. We only take gelly."

Ross blinked in surprise. "Oh."

He rummaged deeper into his wallet and pulled out a handful of the soft, jelly-like substance that served as Flecco's localized physical currency. The server snatched it aggressively and shoved a few smaller pieces of gelly back into Ross's three-jointed hand as change.

Ross offered a polite nod and walked toward the exit. As he pushed the heavy glass door open, he glanced back over his shoulder. The customer directly behind him in line was a reptilian Zibian race. The Zibian handed over a standard stack of universal Accord credits, and the exact same server processed the payment with a warm smile.

Ross walked out into the humid night and let out a heavy, exhausted sigh.

As he walked down the neon-lit street toward his apartment, his stomach suddenly began to churn and ache violently.

"Damn it," Ross muttered under his breath, clutching his abdomen. "Again. This is the third time I eat out and get a terrible stomach ache. What incredible bad luck."

He quickened his pace, desperate to reach the comfort of his home. Unbeknownst to the gentle sound director, many other Zynar citizens across the galaxy were suddenly experiencing this exact same sudden 'bad luck'. The official Accord news networks never explicitly pointed fingers at the Zynar race. The broadcasted propaganda never hit the public over the head with obvious hatred. It was entirely subtle, creeping into the minds of the public through quiet implications and carefully worded reports.

Most importantly, it worked wonders.

…

Meanwhile, deep within the glittering core sectors, a very different kind of corporate norm was unfolding.

Inside a lavish, high-rise office, a Qerrian man sat behind a massive desk. He had deep crimson skin heavily speckled with sharp white markings across his strong jawline. His thick sensory vanes were tightly braided into neat, heavy dreadlocks that cascaded over his broad shoulders.

This was Ezil Zesel, the CEO of Zesel Music Entertainment.

A young woman stood rigidly in front of his desk.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Ezil asked, his voice dripping with absolute venom.

The young woman was clearly startled, yet she bravely held her ground.

Ezil leaned back in his expensive leather chair. "I picked one of the rough ideas you sent to my desk."

The young woman, a junior songwriter under a ZME contract, clenched her fists. "So you do remember."

"Yes," Ezil replied dismissively. "It was a track about watching the sunset on a beach. Congrats."

The young woman took a step forward. "It was about a picnic beside a lake! That is the entire emotional core of the whole song!"

Ezil tilted his head, completely unfazed by her anger. "Easy on the details."

"You changed the lyrics just enough so you could legally claim it was yours!" the young writer accused.

Ezil raised his voice, his crimson face darkening as he corrected her. "I changed it into a proper, marketable song. This is exactly the way the industry works."

Tears began to well up in the young woman's eyes. Her voice broke completely. "My name is completely missing from the primary writer spot!"

"Because it is your job!" Ezil roared, slamming his fist onto the desk. "I gave you money, and you gave me ideas! It is absolutely ridiculous for you to be in the very first year of your career and come in here talking about whose name pops up first on the screen. Everything to you is an opportunity! You should be thanking me first thing in the morning when you wake up. You should thank me right alongside the gods you pray to for giving you another day in my company! Now get out!"

The heavy wooden door clicked shut with a final, suffocating silence. Ezil Zesel took a long, slow breath.

The galactic music industry has grown at a terrifying pace recently, especially with a completely new genre popping off across the rims. Songs of the people, the critics called it. Rock and roll, the underground fans claimed. Ezil himself could care less about the cultural significance. As long as the noise turned a massive profit, he would happily package and sell it.

He picked up his datapad, scrolling through a curated list of up-and-coming artists in this new genre, checking their backgrounds and predicted financial performance. Among the highlighted names was a band called Norva Park. Ezil scanned their profile with a quick glance. 

A band full of former dock workers. He looked over their setlist and a recorded performance. By all traditional corporate standards, they were significantly below average. Furthermore, when his talent scouts contacted them, the band offered a very lukewarm reaction to signing a contract with ZME.

No matter. He would think about them later. His immediate priority rested with artists who were actually desperate to sign a contract. He dragged the Norva Park file straight to the bottom of his roster list.

He had another, far more pressing matter to handle. The Gilded Crescendo Awards were exactly four months away. That arrogant ghost, Percival, had swept the primary writing category for four years in a row now. It was completely unacceptable. Yet, there was always a way to tilt the scales. Ezil smiled darkly, taking a slow sip of the amber whiskey in his hand as he looked out through the glass at the glittering night view of Sela.

…

Meanwhile, Dorian Kepler had just returned to his home on Friton from a long day at work. He walked straight toward his bathroom to wash off the day's exhaustion.

Before he could reach the door, he noticed Athena standing quietly in his bedroom.

The Goddess of Wisdom looked toward him. "So, how was it? Did your Cosmic Level go up?"

Dorian let out a heavy sigh. "No. I don't think it budge at all."

He dropped his work bag onto the floor.

Athena crossed her arms. "Exactly 406,780 Resonance Points."

Dorian blinked. "What?"

"That is exactly the amount of Resonance Points you spent to max out your Stardew Valley banner," Athena stated simply.

Dorian already knew this detail. He had meticulously recorded every single transaction in his physical notebooks. He opened his latest notebook to the first page. "What of it?"

Athena stepped closer. "How much did you spend for the Sky banner?"

Dorian flipped to the current tab of gacha pulls in his notebook. He quickly counted the days and the massive influx of points he had burned to max out the new profile. "Around 1.2 million points."

Athena shook her head. "You did not wait for the game to actually be played by the players."

Dorian sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I just got a little too excited to have another fresh banner to pull from."

To demonstrate the result, he focused his mind and equipped the new Sky profile. In a brilliant flash of warmth, he transformed into a Child of Light. His entire body mass shifted into pure, weightless light. In this state, he physically could never get hurt from falling.

Athena sighed softly. "So, another one of our theories has been proven."

Dorian nodded, grabbing a pen and checking off a box in his notebook. "Already marked it down."

"You really should wait for me before doing these massive tests," Athena chided gently.

Dorian reverted his form and began taking off his shirt to finally shower. "Well, Zeus said you have been incredibly busy lately. Where exactly have you been?"

Athena's expression grew incredibly serious. "I have been busy investigating the heir of the Kepler grade farm."

Dorian stopped entirely. He slowly turned around. "You are investigating me?"

Athena shook her head. "Someone has been throwing a massive, high-society party claiming to be the heir of the Kepler farm. Someone who's not you."

Dorian inhaled sharply. "...Shit."

A/N:

Heyyaa!!👋

So, when I was working on the draft for this chapter several weeks ago, I realized that I hadn't showcased Dorian's profile in action that much.

As you just read, the Impostor Super mini-arc will be where I get to showcase them in action. It'll be 2 or 3 chapters at most. After that, we'll go back to Monster Hunter, then the Gilded Crescendo Award, and finally the Monster Hunter release.

That's the plan, anyway.