Making a game sounds simple, but in his previous life, Alex was just an average gamer.
He was great at *playing* games—he could break down every feature, list the pros and cons, and explain exactly what made them fun—but actually *developing* one? That was a whole different beast.
The biggest issue was his lack of technical skills. Coding alone would leave him completely lost.
The smartest move was to find partners—especially coders.
He could handle the planning side easily by adapting existing ideas.
For art, the AI tech in the *Star Rail* world could handle most of it; a minor quality gap wouldn't be a dealbreaker.
Even coding could technically be AI-assisted, but the specialized details would take forever for a newbie to sort out. Hiring a pro was way more practical.
When it came to code, Alex's mind immediately went to an acquaintance: Silver Wolf, the legendary hacker from Punklorde, now with the Stellaron Hunters—an entity on par with Screwllum of the Genius Society.
Most importantly, she was a massive gaming fanatic, which made collaboration realistic.
For someone who lived for games, getting to help create something truly great? Alex was betting she wouldn't turn it down.
Not a guarantee, but definitely better odds than approaching Screwllum directly.
As for coders on the Xianzhou, they were Plan B after Silver Wolf.
If she said no, he could pivot later.
Finding someone who loved games, didn't need to worry about pay, and was willing to jump in wasn't easy.
Would it work? No way to know without trying.
"Silver Wolf should be easy to track down—she tops the leaderboards in tons of games... but to convince her, I need a killer proposal first..."
To get anyone on board, you had to show real substance. Otherwise, why would they bother?
"A proposal, huh..."
Reimagining Pokémon for the *Star Rail* world's tech got Alex genuinely pumped.
"If it's this universe... replicating the Pokémon world one-to-one should work perfectly, right?"
Excited, he fired up his work computer and started drafting.
"Core gameplay first: capture, train, battle... turn-based commands, just like the anime..."
"Pokémon interactions are a huge draw—give each one an AI with unique personalities..."
"Open-world map, deeper NPC interactions, full AI-driven behaviors..."
"Move proficiency system instead of fixed power... and scrap the four-move limit entirely..."
Ideas flooded out. Building an entire game world's rules on paper was a massive undertaking, but Alex was in pure flow mode—endless inspiration, no time to think about how tiring it was.
By nightfall, stomach growling fiercely, he finally snapped out of it.
"Whoa, it's this late already? I'm starving... calling it for today."
Hunger wasn't the only reason; he'd burned through all the creative brainstorming. What was left was repetitive data entry—stuff he could copy-paste or let AI crunch numbers for.
He headed to the cafeteria and ran into someone very familiar from both lives: Quinn.
"Hey? Why's our slacker queen still at the Divination Commission this late?"
Quinn and his old self had bonded over their mutual love of procrastination.
They'd both picked archivist/clerk roles for the easy downtime, but Quinn had real diviner talent—Fu Xuan refused to let her transfer out.
Geniuses like that couldn't be wasted on basic archiving; anyone could do that job.
"It's all Grand Diviner Fu Xuan's fault—she suddenly called overtime and watched us like a hawk. I couldn't even sneak off, so my card game got postponed."
Quinn poked listlessly at her food, looking like her soul had checked out.
"To pin down even the Queen of Slacking? Lord Taibu's stare is terrifying."
Alex felt wiped out too, but bantering with Quinn gave him a quick energy boost.
"Right?! Forget me—what about you? Overtime too?"
Quinn knew this coworker was another chronic slacker who bolted the second his shift ended.
Otherwise, why choose archiving? With his skills, he could've easily landed secretary or strategist roles.
But those involved constant people-facing work and scrutiny, and he had zero diviner talent, so archiving it was.
"I got caught up in something interesting and lost track of time. Skipped lunch *and* dinner."
Alex shoveled rice into his mouth, talking around it.
"Oh? Spill—what's the interesting thing?"
Gossip and slacking went hand-in-hand; Quinn perked right up.
"It's not real yet, so I'll keep it under wraps. You'll hear the second it's done."
"Fine..."
Quinn deflated instantly.
"By the way, you free tomorrow? Got a card game lined up—one spot open."
As they left the cafeteria, Quinn called back.
"Swamped the next few days, sorry, Manager Quinn."
Alex gave an apologetic wave and hurried out. He'd already backed up the proposal and planned to keep refining it at home.
"Hmm? What's that guy scheming? So secretive."
Quinn was curious, but not enough to pry. She shrugged it off and started thinking about tomorrow's card-game replacements.
Deep into the night, back home, Alex was glued to his computer again, hammering away at the document like time didn't exist.
Eventually, mental exhaustion won. He passed out right on the desk.
"Mm? I actually fell asleep..."
The alarm jolted him awake. Groggy, he checked last night's progress: about 80% done. A morning push would finish it.
With no restrictions and the original anime as reference, Alex didn't think his pace was fast—he actually felt it was a bit slow.
At the Divination Commission, no tasks today, so he dove back in at the library.
Two hours later, the first full draft was complete.
After one final proofread and fixes, Alex prepared to reach out to Silver Wolf.
He opened his jade message, downloaded a popular game, and pulled up the leaderboards.
"Data Ghost," "Claw Claw," "Reconnecting..." "I'm Admin," "Fight Me If You Dare"... Any of the top names could be her.
He sent cooperation requests to the three clear frontrunners: "Data Ghost," "I'm Admin," and "Fight Me If You Dare."