He Designed Super Orlando
Why was a company like Daisho out hustling arcades in the first place?
The question didn't last.
Ah. So this is before Family launches.
Fair enough. Even a giant has to learn how to walk.
I had sunk into the thought when a voice came.
"Thank you."
The Japanese man who had landed hard on his backside bowed toward me—gratitude, it seemed, for my having gathered up his pamphlets.
Wait. Where have I seen this man?
He was definitely with Daisho.
"Your hands got soaked because of me."
"No. It's all right."
He bowed again. That fastidious Japanese courtesy.
In any case, his face said he still had business with the owner. The man had shoved him over; he would use the fall as a pretext to sell. I took the hint and stepped aside, keeping the one pamphlet that still looked more or less intact.
An hour later, in Park Jihoon's room at the hotel, I had definitely lain down to sleep. A long shower in hot water had left me loose and heavy, and I had climbed into bed the way a person is supposed to. By all rights I should have been out cold.
"Mmm."
I only turned over. Sleep refused to come.
A company with a wide-open road ahead, and a success that would not even take long. A few years from now, once Super Orlando launched, Daisho would grow into the undisputed best in the business. I knew that. I did.
Just because it makes money doesn't mean I ought to throw money at it.
This was the moment to stop drawing attention.
And yet the name Super Orlando kept catching at me.
"Nngh."
The first time I saw Super Orlando was in an arcade, when I was small. A single hundred-won coin bought about ten minutes, if I remembered right. Some of the older boys would quit the moment the noise got to them. The machine could scream bweeeep and still have time left, and they would simply stand up as if they didn't mind at all. Whenever that happened I darted in and took the joystick.
Super Orlando, moving exactly as I told him to. Just watching that, it seemed, had been enough to make the child I was perfectly happy.
I was in the lower grades then. I didn't know the people in that house, so I never dared ask them to let me play. I only sat on the threshold and stared at the television without end. It wasn't sad. Back then, simply seeing the new Super Orlando was joy enough.
Super Orlando, tail wagging, flying through the sky...! A sight I had never even imagined. A mildewed semi-basement—and still, in those years, why had I envied it so fiercely?
Laid out like this, the feeling was plain.
I have more memories of Daisho than I thought.
Tsk. Maybe it was only natural that I couldn't sleep. I shoved aside the blanket I had pulled up over my head.
Funny, when you look at it.
Do I sit this one out and let the attention die?
Or do I grab hold of that childhood without flinching? Even with the dark settled over the night, I couldn't settle the thought.
"......"
For a long time, I failed to decide.
The next afternoon I still had no conclusion, and yet my feet carried me anyway. Step, step.
Maybe it's because I went digging through the old days.
Sit in an arcade long enough and desire wakes for no good reason. Seeing the thing makes you want it.
But—
The Daisho man only comes around closing time.
If it looked bad, I would simply leave before then. That was the plan I marched in on, bold as anything.
The plan missed completely.
Amazingly, the Daisho man had reached the shop before I did. Broad daylight. What was he doing here?
"I'll install it over here."
He lifted a green circuit board out of a large box.
Ah. So yesterday's bickering over a mop, and the fall on his rear, had actually closed the sale? Where he looked thoroughly pleased with himself, the arcade owner looked thoroughly unimpressed. A small Japanese company with a name nobody knew. Still, it would not be a losing proposition.
I've played Gorillong myself.
The board would earn back its cost, and then some.
Click, clack. The Daisho man did the installation himself. A few cables, and the power came up at once.
Whirrr.
The screen brightened, and a gorilla appeared with a woman in his arms.
King Kong for a model?
The gorilla climbed a steel framework in long strides. Right after him came a mustached man in a red cap, out to rescue the woman he had carried off.
Huh?
What—that was Super Orlando.
It was. The character dodging the gorilla to save the woman was none other than Super Orlando.
Super Orlando is in Gorillong?
Super Orlando Bros. had not even come out yet. Which meant Super Orlando was a character recycled out of Gorillong.
That's interesting.
Perhaps because I was staring a hole through the screen, the Daisho man held out a coin.
"Want to try?"
"Thank you for yesterday. It isn't much of a return, but..."
He took more coins from his pocket. I had more money than he did, if it came to that. Anyway, I accepted the one he offered.
Gorillong... it's been a while.
I walked Super Orlando up the girders. The gorilla rolled drums down to block the way.
Boing. Boing.
I kept a calm jump going and climbed. Perhaps because I made it look too easy, the owner, watching, grumbled at once.
"The difficulty's far too low."
"Sir, headquarters already finished the level tests. This is exactly the right level, and even that can be adjusted however you like, so there's no need to worry. More than that..."
"......?"
"This young customer happens to be unusually good."
"Even so. First time, and he clears it this easily?"
"Yes, yes. I'll set the difficulty."
"Ah, forget it. I wasn't expecting much anyway."
"......"
"If the reaction's bad, I'll pull it right out. You understand me."
"Yes, sir. I'll get the settings done quickly."
Unlike the owner, who walked off as if none of it concerned him, the Daisho man kept bending at the waist toward the back of his head. Bow after bow.
The world of adults. Tsk.
It must have been after he confirmed the owner was gone. He sidled over to me and asked.
"Is it very easy?"
"Hard to say."
"For a first try, you're absurdly good. And you're so young."
Well, I had kept playing at least until Diablo 4 came out. After I cleared another stage, he took out a notebook and began to write.
"I'll have to tell headquarters..."
Wanting feedback, he looked at me again.
"That gorilla... can you see the pattern?"
"No. I'm just playing."
"Nothing to memorize. You can watch and play, and it's no trouble?"
"For now."
"So there is a problem."
His hands grew truly busy. A question occurred to me then.
"Do you have to report even that to headquarters?"
"Sorry?"
"You must be busy enough just selling."
"Ah... well."
Too specific a question for a child's curiosity. He looked flustered, but he answered readily enough.
"Our company is very small. Even if it isn't the work you're assigned, when we're short-handed you help with this and that."
Maybe because he still wanted my feedback, he went on with a friendly face.
"Actually, I'm a character designer. Right now we don't have the people, so I'm out selling, but..."
"That character—I designed him."
"......?"
"The plumber this student is moving. I made him."
Unlike the man's shy face, my eyes went wide.
"......!"
A plumber? The character he meant was unmistakably Super Orlando. Which was to say—he had made Super Orlando? And no wonder.
I knew I'd seen him somewhere!
Then your name is...
"Do you happen to have a business card?"
"A business card?"
Inside that short question hid another: why would a kid need a card? My answer was not long.
"I have a bit of money."
At that, his eyes went round.
"You don't mean... an in-investment?"
He soon looked embarrassed. Investment, from a boy who was barely out of elementary school. He must have thought himself pathetic for even saying it. My reaction was different.
"Better to invest it than let it sit idle, wouldn't you say?"
"Truly?"
"Well. I'd have to hear the details."
He was talking investment with a kid who had practically lived in the arcade until night. Reason said it made no sense, and still he looked as if he wanted to believe me. Clutching even a rotten rope?
Which means he needs the money that badly.
Maybe that was why his eyes moved back and forth between me and the interpreter. A child who traveled with an interpreter would not look ordinary. He fixed his gaze, carefully, on the interpreter—the look of a man hoping an adult would step in and explain.
"Please tell him."
When I gave permission, the interpreter spoke with care.