In Japan, Gus Harper was in overdrive, steering Silent Hill P.T.'s development at Komina's Tokyo office.
Back in Seattle, Zoey Parker was swamped.
Yup, ever since Gus jetted to Japan, Zoey became WindyPeak Games' de facto boss.
Sounds weird for a company president to become the helm only when the chief director splits, right?
But that's WindyPeak's deal.
And Zoey was learning a hard truth: This place falls apart without Gus!
"On the external front—" Chloe Quinn, Zoey's secretary, rattled off updates. "IndieVibe messaged yesterday. They're prepping their November year-end sale. Our four PC titles—Cat Rio, Who's the Daddy?, Vampire Survivor, and Overcooked—are slated for discounts. Left 4 Dead and Phasmophobia, first-gen somatosensory cabin games, are in too. IndieVibe needs your sign-off on holding a special event, joining the sale, and discount levels."
"Internally—" Chloe flipped her tablet. "Titanfall's Q2 sales report is out. Check it when you can. The Left 4 Dead PVP server launched last quarter's a hit—Operations wants to host an event, needs your approval on format and plan. Apex's player feedback and rep keep climbing. Twitch reached out for a streamer challenge—needs your okay. PUBG's new season dropped with a pass system, new map, and mode. Needs your confirmation…"
Zoey's head buzzed.
What kind of life does Gus live?
Work, work, work from dawn.
It's 3:30 p.m., and the pile's still growing?
Patching one crisis, another pops up. She's a spinning top, but the workload's not shrinking—it's multiplying.
I'm not boss material.
Sorry, Dad, I've let you down. I'm a coward. Best I can do is find you a son-in-law who can handle this.
I'm done. Useless. Dead.
Zoey waved Chloe off, wincing. "Pause, Chuchu. I need a breather…"
Chloe, alarmed at Zoey's pale face, handed her water. "Zoey, you okay?"
"Fine… just exhausted." Zoey sipped, slumping on her desk, pitiful. "Chuchu, is Gus this drained every day?"
Chloe pondered. "Workload-wise, yeah. But Gus knows the gaming market and industry inside out. He probably handles this stuff smoother."
Zoey sighed. "Figures."
Chloe smirked, eyes glinting. "Missing him?"
"Duh!" Zoey squirmed, shoulders twitching. "If Gus were here, this'd be done before it hit my desk. He's the backbone. I need him back to save me!"
"Hmm?" Chloe raised an eyebrow, teasing. "Just work-related missing?"
Zoey's pale cheeks flushed. She turned, showing Chloe the back of her head. "What else would it be?"
"How should I know?" Chloe laughed cryptically. "Ask yourself, Miss."
She stood. "Think it over. I'll send the pending list later. Don't forget to handle it."
"Okay…" Zoey mumbled, waving weakly.
The office door clicked shut.
Zoey sighed, hauling herself up, neck and shoulders screaming.
Should've bought myself a massager when I got Gus's.
Muttering, she unlocked her phone, opened WeChat, and pulled up her chat with Gus.
Daily video calls—ten minutes at first, then twenty, now an hour.
The chat background? A Bulgari Hotel photo from ages ago: Gus asleep on the sofa, Zoey making faces beside him.
She giggled.
Sad thing? Despite years together, months under one roof, it's their only photo.
Zoey pouted.
Maybe a Polaroid camera?
Snapping pics on future trips.
She nodded. Buy one when Gus is back.
Then—bzzzt.
A WeChat ping. A familiar name: Yuki Kamikawa.
Flashback: sophomore year, Evergreen University. Yuki, a Waseda exchange student, bunked in Zoey's dorm—three girls, one spare bed. Yuki, a year older, hit it off with Zoey. They talked everything.
But after one semester, Yuki returned to Japan. Life, studies—contact faded. Last chat? Three years ago.
Zoey's eyes lit up.
Zoey: Yo, Yuki! I'm good, just chilling. How's Japan?
She wanted to catch up, swap updates.
But Yuki, blunt as ever, skipped the small talk.
A voice message: "Zoey, 'chilling' sounds like 'meh' , right? But you're Director Gus's sweet wife! Married to a charming guy like him and still just 'chilling'? Or… missing him on his long business trip, dear?"
Zoey: ???
Wife? Director Gus? Lovesick?
What nonsense, Yuki?!
She bolted upright, heart racing.
Director Gus = Gus Harper? Yuki's at Komina? How am I his wife?
"Uh… wha—?" Zoey sent a shaky voice message. "This Director Gus… you mean Gus Harper? Sam?"
"Duh!" Yuki replied. "Kinda rude, but I saw your photo with him. You look happy…"
Bzzzt—a photo hit Zoey's phone.
Her, napping on Gus's shoulder.
Pupil earthquake.
"Where'd you get this?!" Zoey typed, frantic.
Yuki's voice message: "Gus's wallet, business card slot. He tossed it to me to grab tea."
BOOM.
Zoey's brain exploded.
Gus gave Yuki his wallet?!
Her mind spiraled: Yuki pouts, "Director~ I'm in a funk today~" Gus, smirking, hands over his wallet: "Spoil yourself with some bags, kid."
Imaginary BGM: "For all the pain of love, for all the pain of hate…"
Zoey snapped back.
Yuki's voice continued: "I was getting Gus tea and saw it. Hope I didn't upset you, Zoey?"
You're overthinking.
Zoey stuck out her tongue, replying fast: "Not what you think! We're not married, not even dating officially… Long story. You free to call?"
Girls, especially old friends like Zoey and Yuki, can talk forever.
Meanwhile, Gus, in his Komina cubicle: Where's my tea? Did Yuki bolt with my wallet? That chump change ain't worth it. So thirsty…
Japan's game market was heating up.
The Tokyo International Game Festival, two weeks out, had developers buzzing.
Komina, Japan's digital entertainment giant and a festival headliner, led the charge.
Their moves drew every media eye.
Komina's marketing machine roared, flooding the market with their titles.
Two games stole the spotlight.
First: Yakuza, led by Komina veteran Tsuna Yamamoto. A story-driven, single-player 3A juggernaut blending shooting and racing, with a $100M development budget. Add marketing—likely $200M total. Packed with Japan's Yakuza flair and backed by Yamamoto's stellar rep, it's a safe bet.
Second: Silent Hill, Gus Harper's project.
Why the hype?
One, it's Komina's return to horror after years of losses, aiming to reclaim the genre.
Two, Komina called it "the ultimate benchmark in horror game history."
Three, Gus said it.
Gus's last brag? "Greatest level design ever" for Titanfall. Nailed it.
Before that? "Making shooters great again" with Apex's second-gen FPS.
Now? A horror game, building on Phasmophobia, which Gus claims Silent Hill dwarfs in concept and terror.
"Silent Hill is my gold standard for psychological horror."
No seasoned dev dares hype their game this hard.
It's nuts—amateur-level nuts.
But Gus? A pro with a track record.
His boasts aren't hot air.
Despite Komina's light marketing for Silent Hill, media and peers gave it Yakuza-level buzz.
This irked Tsuna Yamamoto.
Yakuza had it all: hot genres, big budget, heavy promo. Yet Silent Hill, a niche horror title, matched its hype—without Apex's FPS tricks or Titanfall's level design.
It's like Yamamoto prepped a killer lecture for Teacher of the Year, aced it, then Gus tossed out a gym class and got a standing ovation.
Not even his specialty!
Yamamoto fumed, jealousy simmering.
But Gus? Just a guest director, not Komina's full-timer.
That gave Yamamoto wiggle room…