The child's body stumbled through the downpour, each step a betrayal of muscle memory. His legs weren't supposed to be this short. The rain wasn't supposed to feel this cold, each drop like ice needles against unfamiliar skin.
Through the curtain of water, shapes moved between the trees—or maybe it was just his imagination. Dark clouds churned overhead, and everything blurred together in the gray half-light.
From somewhere in the distance, a howl echoed through the forest—low, guttural, hungry. Then another, answering from the opposite direction. The creatures that had nearly killed him were still out there, circling, hunting.
None of this was supposed to happen.
Giri forced the small legs forward, hand clutching his burnt chest, his programmer's mind racing for logical explanations. Nothing added up. This body, this place, these sounds—none of it was right.
"This makes no sense," he gasped, his voice pitched higher than it should be.
Just moments ago—or was it hours? Days?—he'd been at SolarTech. Fluorescent lights. The hum of servers. Coffee stains on his keyboard. Real things. Predictable things.
His mind retraced each event as pain shot through his child-sized frame.
---
Two days earlier...
>>Error. Line 472. NullPointerException.
"Not again..." Giri massaged his temples, the pressure building behind his eyes. The compile window remained unchanged, refusing to cooperate.
The "Awakened" update for Aeonalus Primordials sat unfinished, the project he'd poured five years of his life into. Under normal circumstances, he'd take his time to properly debug the issue. But SolarTech's deadline loomed over him like a guillotine.
The corporate suits who now owned his creative vision cared little for his role as the original creator. Their buzzwords from the last meeting echoed in his mind - "synergistic market integration, monetization strategies". Empty phrases that meant nothing to someone who just wanted to make games people would enjoy.
His chair creaked as he leaned back. If only the financial pressure hadn't forced his hand. If only his team hadn't crumbled - Moriya driven away by empty pockets, Shizuka suffocated by SolarTech's creative restrictions. Their absences left holes no corporate oversight could fill.
The choice had been brutal - abandon his dream entirely or let SolarTech take control. He'd chosen the latter, hoping to preserve some fragment of their original vision. But some days, like today, he wondered if he'd made the right choice.
"Less iteration, more output," they'd said to Shizuka. The memory of her frustrated tears still haunted him.
The ceiling offered no answers as Giri slumped in his chair. The long exhale that escaped his lips carried the weight of his resignation.
His mind drifted to the night he met with Moriya, their usual catch-up over beer and complaints about work.
---
Warm amber light spilled across the scratched wooden table as Giri lifted his glass. The izakaya buzzed with after-work conversations, the familiar hum of their corner booth offering a refuge from the day's frustrations.
"You're late," Giri said as Moriya slid into the seat across from him.
"Sorry, had to run somewhere." Moriya signaled the waitress for his usual. "Client meeting ran over."
"You seem busy lately."
"Yeah, thanks for noticing." Moriya grinned as his beer arrived. "Though it can't be worse than whatever's eating at you. You look like you've been debugging the same function for three days straight."
Giri let out a bitter laugh. "Try three weeks. The VR integration is driving me insane—every time I think I've got the sensory feedback calibrated, something breaks. And don't get me started on the suits. If I hear 'synergistic market integration' one more time, I might start talking in ones and zeroes."
Moriya chuckled. "Still pushing those buzzwords, huh?"
"You have no idea. Everything has to address" —he made air quotes with his fingers— "'pain points' and 'support revenue goals' now. They shot down my dynamic weather system because it wouldn't help monetization." Giri's frustration bubbled over. "They don't want a game, they want a machine that prints money."
Moriya leaned back in his chair, spinning his glass between his palms. "Man, that's rough. Nothing like the old days, huh? Remember when our biggest worry was Shizuka's dragon textures going haywire?"
"All their heads twisted backward while they moved." Giri chuckled, the memory briefly lightening his mood. "Simpler times."
"Before corporate buzzwords and deadline crunches," Moriya nodded, taking a long drink. "Speaking of which—shouldn't you be worried about breaking your NDA talking about this stuff?"
"Hypothetically, this is all in the marketing press. Besides, we've known each other long enough—I know I can trust you."
Moriya grinned. "Hypothetically, of course."
The conversation flowed easily as Giri explained the technical challenges, the AI integration problems, the constant pressure from SolarTech's suits. Moriya listened with the understanding that only came from someone who'd lived through the same struggles.
"Remember when we were planning the Earth Primordial?" Giri asked, a smile tugging at his lips. "You insisted on recording actual earthquake sounds."
"Hey, authenticity matters!" Moriya laughed. "Though maybe breaking that flower pot was a bit much."
The warmth of shared memories filled the space between them, but Giri could see something in his friend's eyes—a distance that hadn't been there before. The corporate world had changed them both.
Giri set down his glass, gathering courage. "You know, with this Awakened expansion... it's big. We're really pushing the boundaries. It would be amazing to have you back on board. Even just as a consultant."
Moriya's expression shifted, the easy smile fading. He stared into his beer for a long moment.
"Thanks, Giri. I really appreciate the offer. But... I'm pretty tied up right now. It's like I'm grinding in a different game entirely, you know?"
The rejection hit harder than expected. Giri forced a smile, nodding as if he understood, but the words felt hollow between them.
"Right. Of course. I just thought... well, if anything changes..."
"I'll let you know," Moriya said quickly, then softened his tone. "But hey, send me those build notes anyway. I can still look over the sound design, give you some ideas. Unofficially."
They finished their drinks in companionable silence, both knowing something fundamental had shifted between them. The easy camaraderie of their shared dream had been replaced by the professional distance of separate careers.
As they parted ways outside the izakaya, Moriya's final words echoed in the night air: "Don't let them stress you out too much, okay? You've done more for that project than anyone else."
---
Back in his apartment, Giri stared at his phone, the memory of that conversation still fresh. The isolation felt heavier now, knowing that even his closest allies had moved on to other battles.
Giri's thoughts spiraled as the uneasy atmosphere within SolarTech crept into his mind again: whispers in the hallways, sudden closed-door meetings, and the vague sense that he was being edged out of the Aeonalus Primordial project.
His phone buzzed in his hand, jarring him from his thoughts. Hanna's name flashed across the screen.
He answered. "Hey, Sis."
"Giri," his sister's voice came through, a mix of apology and forced cheerfulness. "Hey, how's it going?"
"You know," Giri said. "Working on an big update. Hitting some snags. So I'm just taking a break."
A brief pause. Giri knew what was coming. It was the same conversation they had every month, a ritual of excuses and understanding.
"Listen," Hanna began, her voice softening. "About Mom's visit this month... I'm so sorry, but with Tiny... things have been crazy. I just don't think I can make it."
Giri closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly. He got it—Hanna was a university professor, a PhD holder juggling a newborn and a family of her own. She had her hands full; he couldn't hold it against her. And yet... it always came down to him. "It's okay, Sis," he said, his voice carrying a quiet fatigue. "I understand."
"I really am sorry," Hanna insisted. "I'll send you the money for the visit and some extra for a gift. Just... tell her I said hi. And that I'll try my best to come next month, I promise."
"I will," Giri said. A thought struck him. "Hey, speaking of Tiny... how's she doing? Has she started... you know... call her uncle anything yet?"
Hanna giggled. "Oh, you're so eager, aren't you? Well... she's started babbling a lot more. It's mostly gibberish, but sometimes... sometimes it sounds a little like uncle 'Gi-Gi.'"
Giri's lips curved into a genuine smile for the first time that day. "Gi-Gi? Really?"
"Yeah," Hanna said, her voice warm. "It's adorable. She'll grab at the phone when I'm talking to you. I think she recognizes your voice."
"I'd like to see her in person soon," Giri murmured. "I haven't even held her yet."
"I know," Hanna said, her voice laced with sympathy. "It's been tough. But I promise, Giri, as soon as things settle down a bit, you're coming over. We'll have a proper family get-together."
"I'd like that." He paused. "So... Gi-Gi, huh?" He chuckled softly. "I like it."
"Me too. She's a little sweetheart. You're going to love her."
"I already do."
"Thanks, Giri," Hanna's voice filled with relief. "You're the best. I'll talk to you soon."
"Yeah, you too." He ended the call and stared at his phone, smiling faintly. The thought of his niece calling him "Gi-Gi" warmed him, briefly lifting the weight of his day. But reality crept back—deadlines, unfinished code, and relentless work demands.
He settled into his chair, savoring the warmth of Hanna's call for a moment. Then, sighing, he turned to his monitor, where lines of code waited like an unsolved puzzle.
Hours melted together in a haze of coffee and determination. The keyboard's rhythmic clicks filled the silent room as night waned.
---
Golden sunlight striped his cluttered desk. Giri's head drooped, his breath shallow with fatigue. He mumbled, "Just... five more minutes," before collapsing onto the keyboard.
His phone's ring jerked him awake. Dazed, with keyboard marks on his cheek, he grabbed the phone.
He answered, his voice still thick with sleep. "Hello?"
"Giri! You there?" It was Kenji, one of the junior programmers. Normally calm and methodical, Kenji sounded uncharacteristically excited and a little worried.
"Mmm... yeah," Giri mumbled, rubbing his eyes and wiping cookie dust on his already stained shirt. "What's up?"
"Big news!" Kenji said. "There's a meeting this morning. Someone from SolarTech's tech team is coming to show off their new gen VR headgear. The one they're going to use for Awakened."
Giri sat up straight, instantly awake. "New gen? What do you mean?" A knot formed in his stomach. "Why wasn't I told about this?"
This was his project—five years of his life poured into every line of code. He'd been struggling with VR integration for weeks, thinking he was working with their latest tech. Apparently not. Or maybe they deliberately kept him out of the loop.
"Yeah, they just called. They want everyone there. It's a big deal. They said someone important will be there too."
"Important, huh?" Giri glanced from the coffee spill to his screen. He sighed, scattering cookie crumbs as he ran a hand through his hair. "I'll be there soon. Need to clean up first."