[Prison Visiting Area]
The fluorescent lights of Heiwa Detention Center bore little resemblance to Game Evolution's warm office glow. Cold concrete walls stretched toward a gray sky, guard towers looming at each corner. Metal detectors beeped in a steady rhythm as visitors filed through security.
Giri placed his documentation on the counter, joining the row of plastic chairs where others waited. A young woman clutched her papers, eyes darting between signs she struggled to understand, a new visitor. Two seats down, an elderly man dozed, head tilted back against the wall - a prison visit veteran who knew the drill.
The familiar weight settled in Giri's chest. Blue and red lights painted his childhood home that night, flashing across his mother's face as metal cuffs clicked shut around her wrists. The words echoed in his teenage mind: "Fraudulent appropriation of property."
Each court hearing revealed another layer. His mother, a diligent worker, caught in someone else's web of deceit. The real culprits vanished, leaving her to face consequences for crimes she never knew she was part of. Just another expendable piece on their board.
"Number 36," the intercom crackled.
Giri stood, following a guard through security. No amount of coding expertise could hack these walls or rewrite this reality. Here, he was powerless.
The visiting booth's scratched plexiglass separated him from the woman in faded blue prison garb.
Even though he met her every month, Giri could see the differences each time—he couldn't say exactly how, but maybe a new wrinkle around her eyes, a fresh strand of silver hair, or a little more effort in each step. Their time together was being stolen away, moment by moment. He would pay anything to get them back.
Despite everything, her eyes lit up at the sight of him, smile lines crinkling around her eyes.
"Giri, sweetheart!" Her voice crackled through the phone speaker, warm with maternal love.
"How are you, son?"
"Hey, mom. Good to see you." Giri pressed his palm against the glass where her hand rested on the other side, the cold barrier between them.
Her eyes scanned his face, noting the dark circles under his eyes. "How's work?"
"Busy, but going well."
"Make sure you eat well. Rest too." She leaned forward, her forehead almost touching the glass. "You look tired. Are you sleeping enough? Getting proper meals?"
Giri's throat tightened. Even behind bars, she worried more about him than herself. Her hands fidgeted with the phone cord, probably fighting the urge to reach out and straighten his collar like she used to.
"The game I'm making is about to become bigger, mom. You could even hear news about it in here, in just a few months."
Pride brightened her worn features. "I'm so proud of you, sweetheart."
They traded stories - his debugging adventures, her new library privileges, his team's latest achievements, her creative writing class. But as their time wound down, she grew quiet, fingers drumming against the counter.
"There's... something else." She leaned closer, voice dropping. "There's news. A possibility my case might be reopened."
Giri's heart skipped. He gripped the phone tighter.
"Nothing guaranteed, but they found some details, even people. That would prove my innocence." She took a deep breath. "The detective officer got his 'early retirement.' A new one came in, looked at my case. He said he will re-investigate it."
Her eyes darted to the countdown clock mounted on the wall. Their visit time was running out.
"Almost time." She smiled, though her eyes held a hint of mischief. "Next time, remember to bring me some fried shrimp. They don't have them in here."
"Sure mom, I'll bring as much as you like." Giri's chest tightened at the simple request.
A guard approached with measured steps, his face softened with understanding. "Time's up, folks." His voice carried none of the usual prison authority.
Giri's mind wandered to shared meals at their favorite restaurant - crispy ebi fry, steaming rice, his mother's laughter echoing across the table. Simple joys now locked behind concrete and steel.
"I'll be back next month, mom."
She rose from her seat, blue uniform hanging loose on her frame. Each step toward the door seemed to pain her. Once, twice, three times she turned back, waving until she disappeared around the corner.
---
The train ride home blurred past in a haze of neon signs and city lights. Giri's feet carried him to the convenience store on autopilot, his mind still echoing with his mother's words about the case reopening.
He grabbed the fanciest instant ramen from the shelf—black garlic oil tonkotsu, premium noodles—and a bottle of matcha milk.
Back in his apartment, Giri slumped onto his couch. Steam rose from the ramen cup, carrying memories of late-night coding sessions and shared meals. The matcha milk's sweetness failed to wash away the bitter taste of worry.
Work problems layered on top of his mother's news. Technical issues that wouldn't resolve. Secret projects he couldn't discuss. A case that might finally reopen. Each thought bounced between hope and frustration.
He needed to talk to someone, but the apartment felt too quiet, too empty. He couldn't keep bothering Moriya with this stuff. His sister shouldn't have to listen to what he was feeling. And his coworkers? They'd just awkwardly change the subject.
His mind came to the only person left—someone who always had a special view of life, who'd chosen idealism over realism. While others saw setbacks and dead ends, she saw possibilities and hidden meanings.
Giri pressed the dial button before doubt could stop him. The phone rang once, twice...
"Giri?" Shizuka's voice carried surprise and warmth. "It's been forever! What's up?"
"Hey, Shizuka. Good to hear your voice." "Just been thinking," he said, letting out a long breath.
The sound of a stylus tapping against a tablet could be heard. "Thinking? That's dangerous."
"What about?" Shizuka's voice carried that familiar mix of curiosity and concern.
"Sorry if I'm bothering you with this, but... I have a question I need to ask, and you're the only one who might have an answer. You know, the way you always think about things."
"You're not bothering me. What's on your mind?"
Giri traced patterns in the condensation on his matcha bottle. "Do you ever feel like we were gods?"
"Gods?"
"I know it sounds weird. Just humor me for a moment?"
"Sure. What exactly do you mean?" The tapping stopped.
"To the people in our game. We built their world. Their rules. Their very existence. We decided their fate, who could be happy, who would face tragedy."
"I suppose we were," Shizuka mused, her voice softening. "But even gods have limits, don't they? Rules they can't break."
Giri's fingers tightened around his phone. "Do you think they'll ever question our decisions? If they somehow grow sentient?"
Shizuka paused, clearly thinking about the question.
"I think it would be inevitable. Any thinking being questions why they exist, what their purpose is. If we gave them consciousness, we'd also give them curiosity."
"That's what I mean. Life feels like a game sometimes—a badly designed one."
Silence stretched across the phone line. Giri could almost hear Shizuka trying to connect what he meant to his situation.
"Hm... maybe you've been looking at it wrong."
"Wrong how?" Giri asked with genuine curiosity.
"Remember when we designed those side quests? The ones players complained had no real reward? But some players kept doing them anyway, just to see their favorite NPC smile."
"They have to thank you for that. Only you could come up with that kind of reward. Most people, even me, would just throw in some tangible reward and call it a day."
Shizuka chuckled. "Well, someone had to make sure the emotional moments actually mattered. You were all too busy with your fancy spell systems."
"But..." Giri continued, his voice growing quieter. "What if they fail to see that? What if they're too blinded by what's happening to them? What if they look up at their sky and curse their creator for their problems?"
"That's a very you way of looking at it."
"I mean it. Imagine one of them deciding to..." Giri found the word too grim to speak aloud, he changed it. "...quit their quest because the developer was a jerk."
Shizuka's voice shifted, taking on a more serious tone that made Giri sit up straighter.
"If they did, then maybe that's on us. Maybe it's a sign that we didn't give them enough agency. Enough freedom to choose their own path."
"You think it's our fault?" Giri asked.
"Not exactly," Shizuka replied. "We need to make sure they know they always have a choice and they are not alone."
Her words hit closer to home than she probably realized. Giri glanced at the photo of his mother on the shelf - her smile captured in happier times.
"Even if it's not the one they expect. Even if it's not about 'winning'."
"Not about winning..." Giri repeated quietly, as if testing the words.
"Sometimes assembling the right party is already a game in its own right. Even when that team fails at what they set out to do, what matters is that they tried their best, did what they had to do, made memories together," Shizuka added, her voice carrying a hint of that old enthusiasm they shared during late-night coding sessions.
"You're right. Not every party defeats the raid boss or writes their name on the leaderboard. What's important were the people they were with, what they made together."
"Exactly. Life's just like an MMO. Take breaks when you have to, but don't give up on your only playthrough. Enjoy what the game offers to the fullest so you have no regrets looking back."
Giri leaned back against his couch, processing everything Shizuka had said. Her words always had a way of shifting his perspective, helping him see beyond the immediate frustration. Maybe she was right—maybe the value wasn't always in the obvious victories.
"Thanks, Shizuka," Giri said finally, his voice soft. "I needed this."
"Anytime," she replied gently. "And Giri?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't be afraid to rewrite the rules. Perspective is everything. A bug could be a feature. What players want isn't always what they need."
A smile tugged at Giri's lips as the call ended, his mind felt clearer than it had in weeks.
He had two worlds to protect now - one he'd built and one he lived in. Both needed his attention, his care, his determination to make things right.
---
End of chapter 1.