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Eriri's voice cracked slightly, just enough to betray the panic behind her bravado.
"Fine! I'll do it!" she called out, standing up and clutching her bento box like a shield. "I'll join your stupid production team."
Leo paused, his hand still resting on the cool metal of the door handle. He suppressed a triumphant smirk, composing his features into a mask of polite curiosity before turning back around.
Internal Monologue: There it is. The classic Tsundere pivot. One minute she's telling me to get lost, the next she's desperate to be included. God, this archetype is exhausting.
"I thought you said you weren't interested," Leo said, leaning against the doorframe. "Changed your mind?"
Eriri flustered, her cheeks turning a shade of pink that matched the pickled ginger in her lunch. "Don't get the wrong idea! I'm not doing this for him. I'm doing it because... because if I don't keep an eye on that idiot, your ten million yen is going to burn in a dumpster fire. I'm joining to protect your investment, got it?"
Leo narrowed his eyes slightly. It was a flimsy excuse, transparent as glass. She obviously still cared about Tomoya, or maybe she just couldn't stand the idea of being left out while her rival, Utaha, got to play in the sandbox. But Leo didn't care about her motives. He cared about the asset.
"Protecting the investment. Right," Leo said, deciding not to poke the bear. "I appreciate the concern for my wallet."
The atmosphere on the roof was thick with awkward tension. The wind whipped Eriri's twin tails around her face, and she looked like she wanted to bolt.
"Let's exchange contact info," Leo said, pulling out his phone. "I'll find an empty classroom we can commandeer for a studio. I'll text you the details later."
"Fine. Just don't spam me," Eriri grumbled, pulling out her own phone with practiced reluctance.
They tapped phones, the digital handshake sealing the deal.
"Welcome aboard, Eriri-san," Leo said with a nod. "I'll see you around."
He turned and pushed through the heavy door, leaving the rooftop behind. He didn't want to linger. He had achieved the objective: the "Ace Artist" was secured. Now he just needed to make sure she didn't kill the project manager.
Left alone on the windswept roof, Eriri stared at the heavy steel door.
"What a weird guy," she muttered, sitting back down. "Who just throws ten million yen at a guy like Tomoya? Does he have an angle?"
She frowned, stabbing a piece of tamagoyaki with her chopstick. "But still... he managed to reel in Kasumigaoka Utaha. That woman doesn't do anything she doesn't want to do. If she's in, this Leo guy must be the real deal."
A seed of unease settled in her stomach. Leo was charming, talented, and rich, but there was something behind his eyes—a calculation—that she couldn't quite read. She decided then and there to watch him closely.
The Classroom.
When Leo returned to Class 1-C, he found Aki Tomoya pacing nervously by the window. The moment Tomoya saw him, he practically sprinted over.
"Leo-kun! Well?" Tomoya asked, his hands wringing together. "Did she agree?"
"Relax," Leo said, sliding into his seat. "It went smoothly. She's in. Now I don't have to handle the entire art load myself. It frees me up to focus on the background score."
Tomoya let out a breath that sounded like a deflating tire. "Thank god. I was worried she'd..."
"She's on board," Leo cut him off. "But now that the team is assembled, we need to talk about the product."
He turned his chair to face Tomoya fully. "Tomoya-kun, show me the Game Design Document."
Tomoya froze. He looked like a cat that had just been caught scratching the sofa.
"The... the what?"
"The GDD. The plan. The script. The core concept," Leo listed off, extending a hand. "You're the producer. You must have something written down, right?"
"Uh... well..." Tomoya's eyes darted around the room. "Can I have a couple more days? It's not... fully polished yet."
Guilt was written all over his face. Before the money, Tomoya could have bluffed his way through this with passion speeches. But now? Now he was an employee. He had taken ten million yen of Leo's money. That cash came with expectations, and Tomoya was suddenly realizing he had nothing to show for it.
Leo laughed, but there was no warmth in it. "Even a rough draft is fine. We need a starting point for the brainstorm. Come on, show me what you've got."
Tomoya hesitated, then shuffled back to his desk. He returned a moment later with a standard spiral notebook. He handed it over like he was handing over a live grenade.
"This... this is everything I have so far," Tomoya whispered.
Leo opened the cover.
He flipped past the first page. Blank. He flipped past the second page. Blank. He flipped to the end. Blank.
He went back to the first page. It contained a few scribbled lines of vague, emotional nonsense about "the wind," "a white beret," and "destiny."
Leo stared at it. It wasn't a plan. It wasn't even a poem. It was the frantic scrawl of a daydreamer who liked the idea of making a game but had no clue how to actually make one.
"Tomoya..." Leo closed the notebook slowly.
"I know!" Tomoya burst out, bowing his head. "I know it's bad! It's just the basic concept! I'll flesh it out, I promise!"
Leo looked at the boy bowing before him. The dynamic had shifted completely. Tomoya wasn't a friend; he was a subordinate terrified of losing his job.
"I believe in your passion, Tomoya," Leo said, his voice cool and clinical. "You're a blogger with millions of followers. You know what good content looks like. But this?"
He tapped the notebook against the desk.
"This isn't worthy of you. And it's definitely not worthy of my ten million yen."
Tomoya flinched. The shame was palpable. "I'm sorry! I'll fix it! Please, just give me time!"
Ping.
A notification flared in the corner of Leo's vision.
[Target: Aki Tomoya. State: Deep Self-Doubt/Enthusiasm Crash. +200 Points.]
Leo checked his internal balance. 700 Points.
Internal Monologue: Good. He's breaking. But if I break him too hard, he quits, and the game ends. I need him functional. He who pays the piper calls the tune, but if the piper is sobbing, he can't play.
Leo sighed, softening his expression. He needed to pivot. It was classic corporate gaslighting—tear them down, then build them back up so they feel grateful for your "patience."
"Look, Tomoya," Leo said, his tone shifting from disappointed boss to supportive mentor. "I'm not angry. I'm just... adjusting my expectations. You have the vision, but you lack the technical skills to express it. That's why you have a team."
He handed the notebook back.
"Keep your chin up. I didn't invest in a notebook; I invested in you. But you need to step up. If you can't write the script, that's fine—Utaha and I can handle the heavy lifting. But you need to be the visionary. You need to tell us what we're building, not just how it feels."
Tomoya looked up, his eyes shining with unshed tears of relief and gratitude. "Leo-kun... thank you. I won't let you down. I'll work harder!"
Leo smiled, the picture of a benevolent leader.
Internal Monologue: That's it. Dance for me, puppet. Earn me those points.