Dramatic Question
"You're going to release this on the Family?"
Suzuki asked it the way a man asks whether a thing is even possible.
"We'll be laying graphics over it, of course."
"Mm. At a volume like this, the maps alone would eat an absurd amount of space."
"They would. Mr. Hideo pointed out the same thing."
He nodded, and nodded again.
"...So how?"
"Mr. Hideo came up with an idea."
I was describing a genre that existed nowhere in the world, and still Suzuki caught every piece of it as if it had been cut to fit him. By the time the explanation wound down, he was clapping, openly delighted.
"So that was the method... Mr. Hideo really is extraordinary."
"He said there was a problem, too."
"The story?"
"You felt it as well, then."
"Not exactly. When the freedom runs that high, the story loses exactly that much weight..."
At that, I simply looked at him. A crease gathered between his brows, as if he had read what was in my eyes.
"Don't give me 'background extra.' You're an author in your own right."
"An author? Don't be ridiculous. I don't even have a work yet."
At Suzuki's words, Kazuhiro—standing behind him—nodded with violent enthusiasm. I let out a short breath of a laugh. To someone who knew the future, the reactions were a little absurd.
"Don't tell me it's the budget. Something like that?"
"Impossible. This is a project Mr. Hideo is part of."
"Then why..."
Perhaps the name Hideo really did carry that much weight. He had cut a serialization down in a single stroke, and yet this he seemed willing, at least, to turn over.
"I'm lazy by nature, you see..."
"That much is true, but..."
"When it's something I like, I focus harder than anyone."
"Do you. I've never actually confirmed it..."
"And how would you?"
I'm the man who read Insect vs. Hunter three times, all the way through volume thirty-six. When it comes to you, I know every last detail...
"Hmmm."
On top of that, Hideo—the man he respected without reservation—was joining as director. I couldn't see a reason he would refuse. And yet.
"The thing is... I'm a little weak when it comes to story."
Suzuki produced an answer I had not seen coming at all.
"I was never the type built for a grand epic. I put my strength into the small things. A character's history, say..."
Fair enough. Suzuki was a man who obsessed without end over character detail—less a writer who drove a main plot forward in clean, open strokes than one who lived in the dense, intimate exchanges between people.
"...?"
"Not a single story came to me that could serve as the great axis. So even if you took me on as the scenario writer, I wouldn't be much help. That's what I mean."
When he finished, he looked as if he were forcing the regret back down: a man who would have joined in a heartbeat if only he had the ability, and who could not bring himself to be greedy outside his own field.
Right then—
"Then wouldn't it be enough if Mr. Suzuki built only the characters?"
Kazuhiro, still behind them, slipped in with care. Perhaps he wanted to make up for a blunder of his own. He hurried to add the rest.
"I know someone who puts a story together like a miracle. Leave the main trunk to him, and Mr. Suzuki can just do the characters..."
"Who is that?"
"Pardon?"
"The one who can build the trunk. Who is he?"
What?
Ryunosuke?
Why is that name coming up here, of all places?
If my memory is right... someday, he...
"Shall I call him?"
Kazuhiro had the air of a man who had just landed something big. I nodded, hard.
At the same hour, in Seoul.
What he had started was already several hours old. At the beginning, of course, he had forced himself into it—piloting a plane no bigger than a fingernail so he could shoot monsters out of space.
Kid stuff. Plain and simple.
And then, of all things, the longer he played, the more a sly charm showed itself. Super Orlando, the game Miyamoto Hideo had made, was genuinely fine: real speed in it, and controls that felt good under the hand. But the genre that had truly taken hold of him was another one. Simulation, above all. He was the sort who got angry the moment there was no freedom... ahem. Not that he was fully satisfied. Perhaps it was the technology. He could not find a single title that sat just right.
"Hmmm."
Park Yonghak was smacking his lips to himself when it came.
Knock, knock.
"Who's that?"
At his word the office door opened, and the chief secretary stepped in.
"Chairman, I've come with something to report regarding the youngest young master."
"Jihun?"
His face asked what that rascal had gotten into now.
"What now?"
"Is it on account of Yugeon?"
"If not that, he may have made a value investment, with an eye on the company's future..."
"This timing, of all times? A value investment, he says?"
The chief secretary only looked troubled, as if the boy's mind still could not be read. And who, after all, could know the inside of the youngest grandson.
"How much did he put in?"
"Five billion yen, sir."
"Deep pockets on that boy."
The secretary said nothing.
"And what do they even do over there?"
"A million copies?"
"Yes. With their flagship, Dragon Planet, riding high, sales are expected to keep climbing."
If that was true, it was not a bet that lost money. But that much information was not enough.
"That... Dragon... whatsit?"
"Dragon Planet, sir."
"Right. Go fetch me that thing."
"Sir?"
"Five billion yen, and he went in like he meant it. We ought to see just what he was trustin', don't you think?"
"Ah—yes, Chairman. I'll have it ready at once."
The chief secretary bowed and withdrew. Left alone, Park Yonghak wore a face full of thoughts.
"Anybody lookin' on would swear I'd gone senile."
He said it. Then he snorted. He did not look entirely displeased.
Tokyo, Japan.
Summoned by the editor, Ryunosuke ran the whole way to the publisher. Perhaps because he was a newcomer whose entire career was a short-story serial, he took the editor's word as law. He spoke with his face set hard.
"Okay! I've got the title. Dramatic Question—how about it? Mysterious, isn't it?"
Kazuhiro turned to look at me. I was the one who decided, and my answer was simple.
"Dramatic Question... You thought of that just now, didn't you?"
"Huh?"
"Th-that's... why would you want to know..."
The fluster lasted only a moment. Ryunosuke opened his mouth like a man confessing.
"Nnngh. The truth is, it's the name of a long serial I've been working out."
I knew it.
But if this keeps going...
Anyway!
True to the father of D-Que, he poured the story out without ever leaving his seat—a tale so gripping that a single minute of it pulled you under. A reasonable suspicion rose all the same.
"That wouldn't happen to be the plot of your next work, would it?"
"No, no. I reached over and borrowed the title a little, I'll admit it, but how could I cram the actual story in too? I'm only improvising. Spilling out whatever came to me while we played..."
Ryunosuke scratched the back of his head, embarrassed, and still he did not stop. The funny part was who listened hardest. It was Suzuki. They say a hero knows a hero. Suzuki seemed to catch the genius in him at a glance, and the moment that majestic tale dropped its final curtain, he turned and came straight to me.
"If you hire this man as the scenario writer... then I, as the one in charge of character design... will consider joining as well."
From a man of Suzuki's temperament, that was as good as a yes. All that remained was what Ryunosuke wanted.
Suzuki, mad for detail, and Ryunosuke, father of Dramatic Question—that combination!