The game was released without prior announcement.There was no countdown.No flashy advertising.
It just appeared in the month's catalog, listed among utilities and minor titles for the PC-9801, with a sober description and a small image of Aoi facing the sea.
No one in the office expected much.
The first week, the distributor's fax arrived as usual.Kisaragi took it, read silently, and frowned.
–"What is it?" Mori asked.
Kisaragi looked at the paper again.
–"They sold out." – he said.
Silence.
–"Sold out… what?" Sato asked.
–"The run," – he replied.–"All five hundred copies."
There was no immediate celebration.It was more disbelief.
–"It must be a mistake," someone said.
It wasn't.
The second week, the number repeated.Then it increased.
Stores ordered more copies. Some, for the first time, called the distributor directly.Not because the game was spectacular, but because it moved.
–"People are asking for it," – the report said.–"We don't know why."
The answer came on its own.
A specialized magazine published a detailed review.Not on the cover, but with enough space to explain.
–"It's not a game that screams for attention. It's a game that trusts the player."
Another magazine was more direct.
–"A solitary experience, uncomfortable at times, yet surprisingly human."
The words began to circulate.
–"Different."–"Quiet."–"Strangely addictive."
Kisaragi left several magazines open on the meeting room table.No one touched them for a few seconds.
–"They're taking us seriously," Mori said.
Sales didn't explode overnight.They grew steadily.Too steadily.
The game began appearing in personal recommendations, in small columns, in conversations among PC-98 users looking for something different from the usual.
And then something no one had considered happened.The accounts stopped being in the red.
Not immediately.But clearly.
Kisaragi spent an entire afternoon reviewing the numbers.When he looked up, he seemed tired.
–"If this continues…," – he said slowly.–"We didn't just survive—"
He didn't finish the sentence.It wasn't necessary.
The company didn't become large.It didn't hire dozens of people.But it stopped thinking about closing.Stopped living month to month.
That night, we stayed a little longer in the office.Not working.Just sitting.
–"I never thought a game like this would sell," Sato said.
–"Me neither," Mori replied.
They looked at me.
–"Did you know?" Kisaragi asked.
I shook my head.
–"No," I said.–"I just… wanted it to be well made."
It wasn't modesty.It was the truth.
I looked at the turned-off PC-98 screen.Thought of Aoi, the island, the ruins barely included.Thought of players I didn't know, spending hours in silence in front of their monitors.
The game hadn't saved the world.But it had saved the company.
And, without realizing it, I had done something more dangerous.I had proved I could try.I could create something that mattered.
That idea stayed with me longer than any praise.
And for the first time since I woke up in this world,the future stopped seeming irrelevant.