WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Potter

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ The Game Director that Returned from Hell ◈

Chapter 3

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The design document was coming together, step by step.

From choosing the genre and game engine to the basic concept and gameplay, character concepts and system design, and the overall scope.

Once I’d finished all of that, I could finally catch my breath.

‘That’s the concept sorted out for now.’

It was time to start preparing for development in earnest.

It was a demanding process.

Everything from setting the budget to drawing up an action plan took work.

Game development wasn’t something you could do on passion alone.

At its core, a game was a medium that required several forms of media to interact.

It needed talented people from various fields, along with a process that brought them together to work as one.

That applied even to solo development.

I couldn’t do everything myself, so I had to make up for what I lacked, even if that meant outsourcing.

The three pillars of development were design, programming, and art.

Fortunately, I could handle two of those myself.

‘The design’s done. I can do the programming.’

Programming was my university major.

And it wasn’t some no-name university. I’d entered a prestigious university in the Seoul metropolitan area with the highest score and graduated at the top of my class.

I also had plenty of programming knowledge beyond the coursework. Add the experience I’d gained as a solo developer, and I didn’t need any immediate help with programming.

That left just one thing.

‘...Art.’

I wasn’t much of an artist, so I desperately needed help in that area.

No matter how good the gameplay was or how cleanly a game was built, poor visuals made it look cheap.

Even when I’d made [Identity], I’d outsourced the art.

This time, it mattered even more.

‘The visuals are the heart of this project.’

Not just this project, either. The visuals would be the most important element of every project I worked on from now on.

The key was how vividly and grotesquely I could bring the landscapes of Hell to life.

That meant I couldn’t choose someone carelessly.

I also needed someone who would stay with me for the long haul.

For the sake of future projects, it was best to avoid casually changing the art style.

‘Someone who’s already famous would be difficult.’

Even at this point in time, quite a few art directors had established reputations in horror.

I was far too insignificant to bring someone like that on board right now.

So I needed to think of someone who wasn’t famous yet.

Someone whose talent was certain to shine one day.

I didn’t have to think for long.

I couldn’t have been happier to have knowledge of the future.

‘There’s just the person.’

There was someone who wouldn’t truly make a name for themselves until ten years from now.

Here in Seoul, and quite close by at that.

* * *

It had happened in the early 2020s, before I’d fully made up my mind to quit my job.

“Wow, a Korean art director’s made it all the way to GOTY. I’m overdosing on national pride.”

“It was a well-made game.”

“Right? Sure, the ideas probably came from the director, but that’s the person who actually brought them to life. How did they even think of portraying things like that?”

“That’s why they’re a genius.”

That year, a masterpiece had appeared that would leave a lasting mark on console gaming.

It deserved to be called a masterpiece for its gameplay alone, a once-in-a-generation work that no one would surpass in all the years until just before my death.

[Lost Kingdom].

That was the name of the game that had swept the Game of the Year awards.

Plenty of games in history had sold more copies. Plenty had made a bigger impact.

Even so, there was one reason it was considered a unique masterpiece, unmatched by anything that came before or after it.

“Man, those visuals are insane. Seriously.”

Art.

Above all its other elements, art was the one reason people singled out.

It was an artistic masterpiece that used its open-world RPG setting to present breathtaking landscapes you couldn’t look away from for even a moment.

Some things were horrific, some delicate, and others magnificent.

Every moment players spent walking through that world brought new sensations and beauty, and they could interact with all of it.

That created such immersion that it felt as though you’d fallen into the game’s world.

Everyone who played it said the same thing.

“I got so immersed that I was still playing it in my dreams that night. I think I’m going to be living like this for a while.”

I’d been the same.

I’d always had a strong interest in console games, so I’d gone in full of anticipation. The result had affected me so much that it had interfered with my own project for a while.

In fact, I still thought about that game.

Even with the landscapes of Hell so vivid in my mind, the shock of that first playthrough was powerful enough to break through them from time to time.

Anyway, when the public chose the single person most responsible for that game, they chose its art director, Han Seorim.

That was clearly out of the ordinary.

Wasn’t it? When people talked about making a game, the attention usually went to the game director.

Considering that game director’s standing in the industry, the credit should certainly have gone to the director. Yet she had taken the spotlight.

As far as I could remember, it was the first and last time in gaming history that interest in an art director had threatened the game director’s status.

“That’ll never happen again, right? One game taking every art award in a single year?”

“You can never say never. But I doubt we’ll see it again within ten years.”

She had swept every art award in the gaming industry that year.

That historic achievement had sent online communities digging into who she was, and they’d uncovered a few facts.

A Korean woman in her thirties.

The game was the first work she’d made after entering the industry.

Those two facts had combined into a single word: genius.

Countless overseas gaming sites had praised her, joking that Korea really was the best when it came to games. Leading game companies had spared no effort in trying to recruit her.

The same went for companies in Korea, including the one I worked for.

With such a talented director being Korean, they must have figured they should at least try their luck.

Of course, those attempts had failed.

“I wouldn’t come here either. Why live as a salaried employee in the isolated little world of the Korean game market?”

Korea’s game industry focused on the mobile and online markets, built around highly toxic monetization models.

In other words, it was barren ground where AAA games couldn’t take root.

Besides, she could have received the best treatment anywhere she went. The salaries Korean companies could offer were far too meager.

Anyway, the outcome was simple.

She hadn’t gone anywhere.

In fact, after that game, she’d left the industry altogether.

The reason had never come to light, but setting that aside, there was only one thing that mattered now.

Han Seorim, the mother of [Lost Kingdom].

An industry legend who had appeared like a comet, left behind a single masterpiece, and vanished.

She was the person I needed to recruit.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to worry about how to find her.

“Come to think of it, you two are fellow alumni, boss.”

“Fellow alumni, my foot. I never even saw her while I was there. We weren’t even in the same department.”

“Well, you went to the same university, so you’re fellow alumni.”

She was a junior at my university.

A fresh-faced design freshman who had enrolled in 2008, no less.

* * *

Once I’d made my decision, I acted right away.

I got dressed and headed out. After struggling to recall the now-hazy bus routes, I arrived at my old university, Hanguk University.

‘It’s been so long.’

I looked up at the university buildings.

It was my first visit since turning back time. Counting the years I’d lived through, it had been nearly twenty years since I’d seen them.

Memories of those days suddenly came flooding back.

The times I’d stayed up all night doing assignments, the times I’d done assignments, and the times I’d done assignments.

‘Hmm...’

...It seemed best to stop thinking about it.

Looking back, I hadn’t exactly enjoyed university life.

As I continued that moment of self-reflection, a voice called out.

“Huh? Isn’t that Yeonho?”

“That is you! Yeonho!”

A large man was smiling at me in delight.

Who was he again? It took a moment of thought before I remembered.

“Jingyeong hyung?”

We hadn’t met up after graduation, so it had taken me a while to recognize him.

He was an older student who’d been famous in our department for being a heavy drinker.

I remembered him being popular because he came from a wealthy family.

“Yeah, you punk! Did military service make you forget me already?”

Jingyeong walked over with his feet turned out and slapped my shoulder, thump, thump.

That was the kind of person he was.

Easygoing and cheerful enough to hang out even with a loner like me.

“It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, yeah. Last time was around when you enlisted, so two years? Are you coming back to school now?”

“No, I’m taking another semester off.”

“Really? Then what brings you here?”

“I just have something to take care of.”

“Oh, okay...”

Jingyeong nodded.

He didn’t seem particularly curious beyond that.

Well, we weren’t close enough to discuss our personal lives.

“You’re a fourth-year now, right? You’ll have graduated by the time I come back. Congratulations in advance.”

I was about to turn away after offering that routine bit of small talk.

“What are you talking about? I’ve got another year.”

“?”

“Retaking courses. Fifth year.”

“...”

Oh, right.

He’d been a fifth-year when I returned to school.

“Han Jingyeong! Come on!”

A group of people who looked ready to go drinking in broad daylight called out to him.

He answered.

“Coming! Oh, good timing. Yeonho, want to come along?”

“No, I’m leaving as soon as I’m done here.”

“Ooh, the model student doesn’t know how to have fun? Anyway, got it. Take care!”

Jingyeong whisked his large frame away like the wind.

All sorts of thoughts came to mind, but I pushed them aside.

I simply started walking.

‘Where was the School of Fine Arts building again?’

My own immediate problems were too pressing for me to worry about someone else’s life.

Fortunately, there was a campus map to make up for my faded memories.

I found the School of Fine Arts without much trouble and decided to look for her the old-fashioned way.

“Excuse me. Could I ask you something?”

“Yes?”

“Do you know Han Seorim in the Visual Design Department?”

The student blinked.

They looked confused, but I didn’t have any other options.

Smartphones weren’t even widespread yet.

This was the way to do it.

* * *

Bang!

“Seorim! Han Seorim!”

A classmate burst through the department lounge door, shouting at the top of their lungs.

Seorim lifted her head from the desk.

“...What?”

An all-night assignment had left her completely drained.

Her head was ringing, making loud noises painful, but that classmate of hers didn’t seem to have any intention of being considerate.

“A guy’s here to see you!”

“What guy?”

“What was it, Cheon Yeon... Cheon Yeonho?”

She didn’t know the name.

Just as Seorim frowned, the older student beside her, who’d been texting, tap, tap, suddenly looked up in recognition.

“Cheon Yeonho? Cheon Yeonho from Computer Science?”

“Huh? You know him?”

“Of course! The number one freshman in his department, 2006 intake! I heard he went into the military. He must be back!”

The older student even sprang to their feet, joining in the fuss.

Was he famous for being good at studying?

But that was strange.

Every department had a top student in each year. That was no reason to be so famous in another department, much less an entirely different school within the university.

“Is he that good at studying?”

At her puzzled question, the older student tilted their head.

“What do you mean?”

“You said he was number one in his department. I just wondered if that was enough to make him so famous.”

“Not that kind of number one. Well, he was that kind too, but I meant number one in another way.”

The older student grinned.

“Number one in looks.”

“...”

Her classmate nodded, eyes sparkling.

“Do you know him?”

There was no room for doubt.

They looked like jackals who’d found a juicy piece of gossip to tear apart and savor.

Plenty of experience told her that opening her mouth would only give them something to talk about over drinks.

“I don’t know him.”

“Then why’s he looking for you?”

“How would I know?”

“Wait! Could it be?”

Her classmate and the older student exchanged delighted gasps.

Then they burst into giggles and made even more of a fuss.

Damn television had ruined people again.

That show where celebrities pretended to be married was all the rage.

She could see exactly what was going on in their heads.

Seorim immediately stood up.

“He’s probably here on some business. Why are you making such a fuss? My older brother’s in that department too.”

She’d tried to put an end to their excitement, but judging by their expressions, it was a lost cause.

She’d have to keep a low profile for a while.

“I’ll be right back.”

Seorim hurried out of the department lounge.

She was a little irritated. Even back in school, she’d often become the subject of pointless rumors, so she didn’t welcome this sort of attention.

Naturally, her impression of Cheon Yeonho could only get worse.

He was most likely here at the request of her good-for-nothing older brother, Han Jingyeong.

If not, she’d turn him away immediately and leave.

With that resolve, she stepped out in front of the building.

Seorim spotted Cheon Yeonho at once among the people passing by.

His presence stood out that much.

‘...Hmm.’

He was handsome, all right.

* * *

“Cheon Yeonho?”

A woman spoke to me, standing with her arms crossed and her weight shifted to one side.

A sharply cut bob, sharp features, and a prim expression.

I knew at once.

This woman was Han Seorim, the art director and mother of [Lost Kingdom].

Seeing her face looking younger than in the photograph I remembered stirred a strange feeling.

That was what it felt like to see the past of someone who would create such a masterpiece in the future.

At the same time, excitement rose within me.

This woman could bring the Hell inside my head to life more vividly than anyone else.

‘Even if she can’t do it yet, that’s fine.’

If I helped her grow over time, she’d reach a level that satisfied me, perhaps even surpass it.

My mouth went dry.

Pushing down the rising thirst, I offered her my hand.

“I’m Cheon Yeonho from the Computer Science Department. Are you Han Seorim?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Could we talk for a moment?”

“What’s this about? If it’s nothing important, could you just tell me here? I have a lecture soon.”

Even then, Han Seorim didn’t take my hand.

I could see the caution in her manner.

Well, that was understandable. A man she’d never met had come all the way to her department looking for her.

“Hmm...”

This didn’t seem like a conversation to have standing around, but did I have a choice?

I thought for a moment, then said what I’d prepared in advance.

“I happened to see your mini-homepage. More specifically, the drawings you posted there.”

“Oh, my doodles?”

Doodles? That wasn’t even funny.

While doing my research, I’d found my way to Han Seorim’s mini-homepage, where she’d posted several digital drawings.

Every one of them was impressive.

Not in terms of polish, but in the feeling they conveyed.

You could say the artistic sensibility I remembered from [Lost Kingdom] was there in its raw form.

Anyway.

“...Yes, those drawings.”

“Hmm. Go on.”

It seemed I’d succeeded in catching Han Seorim’s interest.

I nodded.

“I’ll get straight to the point. There’s something I’d like to ask you to do.”

“What is it?”

“I’m making a game. I’d like you to handle the art.”

An oddly sullen look came over Han Seorim’s face.

“...A game?”

“Yes.”

“You’re making one?”

“...Yes.”

Just as unease began to rise inside me, her answer came.

“...But I’ve never even played a game.”

?

Art Director (2)

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