The project started without a final name."Project Island" was enough for the internal files. There were no long documents or long-term plans. Just a single sheet with clear decisions and well-defined limits.
The first task was the protagonist.Mori handled the visual design. She brought multiple sketches: girls with exaggerated survival gear, military equipment, dramatic expressions.
Kisaragi shook his head."Too strong," he said.
"They're not," Mori protested, and started over.
The final design was simple: a young, slender girl in civilian clothes, slightly torn from the accident, dark hair tied messily. No improvised armor. No exaggerated heroism.
"Her name is Aoi," Mori said, showing the final sketch.
The name meant nothing special. That made it perfect.
The introduction was minimal.No resources for cinematic scenes. Instead, we used large sprites, slow side-scrolling, and constant FM sound. The airplane appeared cut against a static sky. Turbulence simulated with screen shaking. A sudden cut.
Then, black.
The next frame showed Aoi waking on the beach. Simple waves. Repetitive motion. Her body remained still for a few seconds before rising.
"No need to explain more," I said."The player will understand."
The gameplay system was built on what already existed.The RPG engine from the previous project was reused almost entirely: eight-direction movement, collision system, object interaction—all functional.
The new layer was survival.
Invisible variables were added: hunger, thirst, fatigue, health. Not shown as numbers, only as states: okay, tired, weak.
"If we show everything, it becomes bookkeeping," I explained."We want decisions, not calculations."
Next came resource gathering: fruits, branches, stones. Each item had one or two uses. Basic construction: a campfire, a simple shelter, a rudimentary spear.
Nothing could be built quickly. Time passed even when the player did nothing.
For hunting and combat, the RPG action system was reused. Frontal attacks. Short reach. Simple enemies: small animals, aggressive only if approached too closely.
"This isn't a fighting game," Kisaragi said."It's a game about avoiding mistakes."
Animals didn't give much food. A failed attack cost energy. Hunting wasn't fun—it was necessary.
The daily cycle was implemented last. Light slowly dimmed. Nighttime sounds changed. Energy consumption increased. Sleeping didn't restore everything.
"The player should never feel safe," Mori said."But also not punished," I added.
Finding balance took longer than anything else.
By the end of the second week, the prototype existed.Aoi could die of hunger.From fatigue.From one bad decision repeated too many times.
No heroic music.No rewards.Only continuity.
Kisaragi played for almost an hour without speaking.When he finished, he leaned back in his chair."It's not fun," he said.No one reacted.
"But I want to keep playing," he added.
That was enough.
The project continued.We didn't know if anyone would want to buy such a game.We didn't know if the market was ready for something so quiet.
But the system worked.And, as before, that was all that really mattered.