—What an interesting attitude…
Such an obvious provocation. Even if the request itself was reasonable, the way it was phrased still stirred something in Kamiyā Yuu. For a moment, he even felt like teasing Director Yūki in front of him.
No salary? Even if he proved he was the creator of 'Red—Crescent Rose', he wouldn't take that seriously. After all, no one treats polite words or exaggerated promises as binding truth.
Kamiyā Yuu quickly shook his head. "No, no, that's going too far. Besides, I'm the one inviting Director Yūki to join the studio. How about this—since you doubt my ability so much, why don't we make a bet? If I can prove I'm the creator of 'Red—Crescent Rose', then you'll agree to three requests from me. Of course, I won't ask for them now, and they won't be anything excessive or beyond your ability—something like a child asking their parents for a back massage."
"If I can't prove it, then I'll agree to three requests from you as well."
Kamiyā Yuu wasn't foolish. There wasn't anything work-related he needed to ask Yūki Chinatsu for right now, so proposing three small requests as the wager worked perfectly. If he won, holding these "three commands" would naturally shift the dynamic between them, ensuring her place in the studio. More importantly, it would turn her casual bravado into an actual obligation.
A provocation? Just redirect it with a bit of cleverness. Whether he took the bait or not, he wouldn't lose.
Yūki Chinatsu's round eyes spun as she suddenly put on a wary expression, glaring at him. "Making such a condition toward a lady—what exactly are you planning? Don't tell me it's like those late-night anime scenes where someone gets tied up and then—beep—and then—beep beep beep—and finally—beep beep beep!"
The things coming out of her mouth would definitely be censored if this were an anime. Even Morishita Aoi, who had been quietly observing, frowned slightly in discomfort.
Tap tap. Morishita Aoi knocked on the table, signaling that the conversation had gone off track.
—Is this what they call talking nonsense with a straight face and changing the subject?
Kamiyā Yuu couldn't help but laugh. He waved his hand calmly. "Director Yūki really knows a lot about that kind of thing. But no matter what, I wouldn't do that. My minimum acceptable appearance age in that regard is probably around high school level."
He paused, then added more seriously, "What I said earlier was just a joke. As the one inviting you, making such a bet would be insincere. So instead—if I can prove I'm the creator of 'Red—Crescent Rose', then please join us."
This was exactly the answer Yūki Chinatsu had been trying to provoke out of him—but certain words clearly struck a nerve.
She glanced down at her completely flat chest, then at Morishita Aoi's far more pronounced figure. Pouting, she planted her hands on her hips and glared at Kamiyā Yuu. Even knowing it was a trap, she raised her voice defiantly:
"Kamiyā Yuu, you really have a way with words! Fine! Since I proposed the bet, I won't trouble you with backing out. Just like you said—if I lose, I'll work at your studio and agree to three not-too-excessive requests!"
To save face, even knowing she might lose, Yūki Chinatsu still accepted. She absolutely refused to be looked down on.
What could have been a simple discussion had, due to their differing mindsets, turned into this outcome. Yūki Chinatsu believed that producing something like 'Red—Crescent Rose' must involve some hidden, undisclosed technique. Before fully committing herself, she wanted to probe as much as possible.
What she didn't expect was that Kamiyā Yuu had no intention of hiding anything, leading to this awkward situation.
It was like someone trying to determine whether a wall was made of cement or mud—never imagining it was made of paper. When they pushed it with all their strength, not only did the wall collapse, but they fell over as well.
"Log into ZBrush and show me the production data," Yūki Chinatsu said, leading him to one of the newly purchased computers. "If you were personally involved in 3D modeling, there should be records, right?"
The computer had already been customized—its wallpaper changed to a pet cat, and several personal-looking programs were installed.
—This Director Yūki really isn't shy about making herself at home…
Kamiyā Yuu smiled faintly. Watching her skillfully open a 3D animation software and bring up the login screen, she rolled her chair aside and crossed her arms. "Go ahead, Mr. Kamiyā Yuu."
ZBrush is the most famous and widely used 3D modeling software in the world. Over 80% of 3D animation on the market was created with it.
Kamiyā Yuu glanced at the login screen and shrugged. "Sorry, I don't have an account for this software."
Yūki Chinatsu tilted her head, giving him a strange look. "Are you from the 3ds Max camp? That software is outdated—it couldn't possibly produce the quality of 'Red—Crescent Rose'."
"Neither," Kamiyā Yuu replied, deliberately being mysterious. In truth, even MAYA would be considered groundbreaking in this world.
Yūki Chinatsu's expression darkened slightly as she spoke with a hint of sarcasm. "Don't tell me you're using some in-house 3D software exclusive to big companies?"
In the industry, that kind of claim was practically an urban legend—often used by amateurs to brag. Major companies had long clarified that they mostly used mainstream tools. Even so, her tone carried a trace of hope. To professionals, the visual quality of 'Red—Crescent Rose' felt like it came from a next-generation technology.
What could be more convincing than action?
Without another word, Kamiyā Yuu opened his laptop and clicked on the MAYA icon, entering the automatically saved production database from 'Red—Crescent Rose'. Instantly, five or six windows popped up, displaying all kinds of complex data and modeling interfaces.
Yūki Chinatsu froze.
As a professional, she couldn't even recognize what software this was.
"This software is called MAYA," Kamiyā Yuu explained calmly. "I developed it specifically to create 'Red—Crescent Rose'."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Even if it wasn't exactly "showing off," seeing a professional stunned by his work gave him a quiet sense of satisfaction.
Yūki Chinatsu stared at the screen, her expression stiff. "You made this yourself?"
She felt like things had gone in a completely unexpected direction.
"Can I take a closer look? I can't see the details clearly like this," she said seriously, her small hand already resting on the keyboard.
She needed to understand this software before making any judgment. A self-made 3D modeling program? That was even harder to believe than a key animator producing high-end 3D animation.
But she was certain—she had never seen or even heard of this software before.
A completely unknown 3D modeling tool… and the secret behind the visual quality of 'Red—Crescent Rose'.
At that thought, her heart began to race.
She hadn't expected to get the answer so easily.
"Go ahead," Kamiyā Yuu said.