"Picked up fast. Playing Carrot Defense? Hope I didn't mess your run."
Gus Harper grinned over the video call.
"Uh… yeah!" Zoey Parker paused, then nodded, flashing a smile. "No worries, it auto-pauses."
"Cool," Gus said, shrugging, and dove into work talk. "Just had dinner with Komina's crew, chatted a bit…"
He recapped the banquet, detailing his P.T. pitch to Zoey.
She nodded along, half-listening.
Games? Not her thing.
Whatever Gus says, goes—dude's the expert.
Komina's execs were floored by his demo plan? She just cheers 666—total win.
What caught her ear was Gus's mention of Komina's business model: a "pan-entertainment company with games at the core."
Now that's juicy.
Her system splits projects into main (must profit) and sub (must lose).
Her old plan? Main games make bank, sequels tank.
Titanfall and Apex proved it worked.
But Gus's idea? A game-changer.
The system doesn't mandate games-only projects.
Why not make games the main project and branch sub-projects into other industries?
Bingo!
Gus's beloved games succeed, keeping him happy.
Sub-projects in other fields? They can crash and burn—big losses, zero tears from Gus. Better yet, it'd fire him up to make killer games.
Two birds, one stone.
Gus climbs to game-king status, while Zoey's system catapults her up the rich lists.
He gets fame, she gets fortune. Two legends, one era—perfect, right?
Zoey's brain lit up.
But WindyPeak's funds—$675 million—aren't enough for multi-industry plays. Billions needed for that leap.
She shelved the plan. Perfect, but not yet.
"Yoshi!" Zoey nodded, smirking, and teased in a mock-serious tone, "Well done, Gus-san! Big first-day wins! Bright future ahead!"
"Arigato, Zoey-san!" Gus played along, mimicking Moriya's ninety-degree bow. "Since I'm hustling, can I hit Akihabara in a few days to, uh, check out the local talent?"
Zoey: …
Three seconds of silence.
She sat up on the sofa, eyeing Gus through the camera with a creepy grin. "Try it, and you'll find out with one laugh."
Her calm tone sent chills down Gus's spine.
He gulped. "Nah, forget it, I'm good…"
"Just a tad risky," Zoey said, smirking wider. "Worst case, you're a hero again in eighteen years."
"No, no, no! Gus loves… not that!" Gus's panicked, righteous face cracked her up.
Zoey burst out laughing. "Poor guy. It's, like, eleven there, right? Big day tomorrow?"
Gus grinned, nodding. "Yup, we kick off P.T. development tomorrow. Moriya said Komina pulled thirty folks from four horror-game studios. Gotta rally the team, make some plans."
"Damn, big-league stuff," Zoey teased, softening. "Thirty people—more than our whole company. Hard work, General Gus."
Gus raised an eyebrow. "Serving the boss."
Zoey giggled. "Sleep, soldier. Big battle tomorrow."
"Yeah…" Gus nodded, hesitated, then said it: "Good night."
Zoey froze.
They'd known each other forever, lived together months, but Gus never dropped a "good night" in person.
Her heart did a flip.
Blushing, she stammered, "G… good night."
Beep—
Call ended. Zoey stuck out her tongue, hugged her phone, and sank into the sofa, giggling. "Hehehe…"
Next morning, Komina Building, 8th floor, Game Division meeting room.
Applause erupted.
After Tetsuya Moriya's intro, Gus, in a sharp suit Zoey picked, strode to the front, speaking fluent English.
"Thanks, Mr. Moriya. Hey, everyone, I'm Gus Harper, Chief Game Director from WindyPeak Games, and guest director for Silent Hill P.T.. Call me Gus or Sam. Let's make the greatest horror game ever."
Clap—
Another wave of cheers.
"Greatest horror game" sounded bold, but the team, having read the P.T. plan, knew Gus wasn't bluffing.
Its uniqueness screamed potential.
And it's just a demo!
The room buzzed.
After Gus's intro, the team leads stepped up.
First, Muneki Sato, 33, planning department. Non-prescription glasses, slick, sharp, all business.
Next, Kazu Okura, 28, main programmer. Stiff, polite to a fault, desk packed with anime figures—a textbook otaku.
Last, Yuki Kamikawa, 25, main artist. Japanese-American, blonde, princess-cut hair, BlackPink's Lisa vibes. Bubbly, ex-exchange student in the States.
Three studios, three vibes, all top-tier.
Project greenlit.
Though the team had studied the plan, Gus walked them through it again, diving into details.
The more he explained, the more jaws dropped. Sugoi—amazing—echoed nonstop.
Gus's "psychological horror" was a seismic shift for the genre.
His "ghost encounter" designs? Pure genius. Text alone gave chills.
"…That's the gist. We'll hash out more as we go," Gus said, leaning on the table. "Questions?"
The team exchanged glances, shook heads.
Gus nodded, clapped. Bang! "Let's roll!"
Project launched.
True to form, Gus moved his workstation to a cubicle in the team's open office.
The team freaked.
Japan's workplace? Strict hierarchy, bowing galore, borderline ancient-court vibes.
Superiors don't slum it with the crew.
Gus, a high-flying guest director, joining the cubicle gang? Unheard of.
The team buzzed.
By lunch, Gus announced he'd booked a light meal at the Tokyo Bay InterContinental, his treat.
Komina went wild.
The P.T. team, pulled from multiple studios, became the talk of the company.
In half a day, "Director Sam" was a legend.
Team group chats lit up:
"No way! Director Sam moved his desk to our cubicle!"
"Big news! Guess lunch? Sam paid outta pocket!"
"Most charming dude ever—crazy talented, crazy nice!"
"I don't wanna leave P.T.. This team's unreal."
"He told us to drop honorifics for better chats!"
"I'm stressing about life after P.T.…"
"He's like a manga hero! My anime dreams are real!"
Other employees? Stunned, jealous, curious.
P.T.'s team became Komina's hottest studio, brimming with hype.
You could spot them after work.
Zombie-like, drained folks leaving the Komina Building? Other departments.
Lively groups, chatting murders, dismemberment, throat-slitting, giantism, reincarnation, deformation? P.T. crew, hyped for yakitori and project talk.
Gus's free, chill vibe swept Komina like a breeze.
A month flew by.
Yuki Kamikawa popped by Gus's cubicle with a progress update.
High budgets rule. The Phoenix Engine's power pushed the art team's work to insane levels.
On-screen, Lisa's eerie twitches—fabric simulation, model skinning—looked real. Gus nodded. "Solid. But with later movements, sync your action designer with Sato's planner."
"No problem," Yuki said. "Sato-senpai and I already talked it out."
She glanced at her watch. "Afternoon tea, Director? I'm grabbing a White Peach Oolong downstairs. Want one?"
"Sure, same," Gus said.
Yuki smirked. "Huh… usually girls go for that. Guys pick green tea or straight oolong."
"Dead set, huh?" Gus mused, switching to basic Japanese. "Atashi mo White Peach Oolong, onegaishimasu."
He used a feminine pronoun for laughs.
Yuki cracked up. Gus's wit, charm, and talent made him a dream boss.
Working with him? A blast.
"Got it," Yuki said, heading out.
"Yuki," Gus called, tossing her his wallet. "Thanks for the run."
"No need!" Yuki waved it off. Two teas, no biggie.
Gus insisted, tossing it. "Half sugar's fine."
Yuki caught it, shrugged, smiled, and leaned in. "Hai~"
At the tea shop next door, she hit the counter. "Two White Peach Oolongs, half sugar."
"832 yen," the cashier said.
Cash still ruled in Japan.
Yuki opened Gus's wallet and froze.
A photo in the business card slot.
She swore she wasn't snooping—Gus gave her the wallet, and the photo was right there.
Gus, in casual clothes, sat on a sofa, throwing a cheeky "V" sign.
On his shoulder, a girl napped under a velvet blanket, lashes like tiny fans, peaceful.
Heartwarming.
But Yuki's jaw dropped at the girl's face.
"Z… Zoey?!"