Chapter 25
Chapter 25
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 25
Chapter Title: Dissonance
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A single concept, and from it, countless branching ideas woven together into a theme.
A-yun had created a theme.
Craaack—!
With Yeon-ho’s help, she had recorded twelve different types of lightbulbs shattering.
The most ideal sound came from the fluorescent lights illuminating the office ceiling.
You couldn’t just break them. You had to smash them with all your might.
Of course, the sound still needed processing, but that was a problem for later in the workflow.
Listening to the sound, A-yun was certain.
‘Rupture.’
Chapter 1, the Hell of Heretics, needed to express a sense of wrongness, of rupture, of the thrilling precarity just before the breaking point, all through the imagery of the most conventional religions.
Only then would the peace feel ominous, the heretics’ punishment feel deserved, and the image of God feel imperfect.
A-yun grew impatient.
“I’m heading to the recording studio!”
With that, she bolted from the office.
Her hurried steps took her all the way to her teacher Chan-yong’s studio.
“A-yun? What’s this all of a sudden…”
“Teacher! I need to do some recording!”
Chan-yong hesitated, taken aback, but soon nodded.
A-yun sat down.
‘I have to organize this, one by one…!’
She began to methodically arrange the ideas that were branching out like mad.
‘Composition is about building things up!’
So, she would start from the very foundation.
It was in this moment that A-yun’s lessons began to truly shine.
The sounds she had been ‘collecting’ all this time started to serve as her references.
‘The base is an orchestra.’
Low and slow, with special emphasis on the grandeur of the brass and the trembling of the strings.
This would highlight the outward qualities of the utopia.
‘And on top of that, electronic noise… Yes!’
A synthesizer.
She could process the orchestral base with it.
It would add a sharp tension to the sound.
With the base established, it was time to deepen the concept.
A-yun thought, her heart swelling with excitement.
‘I’m going to make music that can only exist in a game.’
A musical technique that could only be perfected within the medium of a game came to mind.
A-yun zeroed in on the key point.
‘I have to use sound effects.’
She would turn the sound effects themselves into instruments.
Impact sounds, the noises accompanying interactions, even the sounds of taking damage and screaming.
If those were woven into the background music, the result would be quite impressive.
No, they would become musical components in their own right, instruments unto themselves.
Craaack—!
A-yun processed the sound of the shattering lightbulb into a file.
She inserted it at random intervals.
She worked on another element simultaneously.
‘Completely exclude percussion. The sound effects will provide the rhythm.’
By removing the BGM’s beat, she could highlight the irregularly occurring sound effects.
Of course, the rhythm would be thrown off, but that was fine.
‘In fact, it *needs* to be distorted. That’s what will make the discomfort soar.’
That was precisely the kind of music befitting a god of indefinable form.
It would be able to fully express the fear and awe that reside within the human psyche, along with that creeping sense of unease.
She named the theme: Dissonance.
There were two key points.
‘The music has to be bland. So faint you don’t even notice it if you’re concentrating.’
Just as the term BGM (Background Music) implies, it would exist as a hazy presence in the player’s subconscious.
A supporting character, not the lead.
Its main role was to be a seasoning that enhanced the richness of the experience.
However,
‘For just one moment…’
She would let it explode.
The exact moment God’s fist struck the ground.
Craaack—!
The shattering glass was God’s sound effect, inspired by stained glass.
It would act as a trigger, causing the BGM to truly penetrate the player’s awareness. In other words, it would heighten the game’s tension.
The player’s now-heightened sense of hearing would anticipate the next sudden shatter, breeding anxiety. In this way, the game would not lose its sharp atmosphere, even after repeated playthroughs.
‘Let’s make it!’
With her conclusion reached, it was time for implementation.
*Click-clack!*
A-yun’s hands moved busily.
Watching her from behind, Chan-yong found himself smiling warmly.
It was the warmth of seeing a student grow, of witnessing a junior’s passion.
But such words couldn’t fully describe the depth of his emotion.
Funnily enough, in that moment, Chan-yong recalled the past.
It was something a senior colleague, who had once created a masterpiece that would go down in the history of Korean commercial music, had said.
-Oh, that song? It took me 30 minutes to make. I was in a slump, taking a break, when it just flashed through my mind.
Masterpieces are born from a flash of insight.
For they are the most artistic conclusions, springing forth from the realm of intuition.
Chan-yong felt a sense of anticipation.
He thought, however, that the right thing to do was to leave A-yun alone until she had a result.
*Creak—*
Chan-yong quietly closed the recording studio door.
* * *
The next day, after the art team had all arrived.
“It’s done…!”
Jo A-yun, who had abruptly left saying she was going to the recording studio, returned and handed me a USB drive.
How could she have made the music so quickly? The question arose for a moment, but I decided to listen first.
My first impression was none other than this:
“…It’s a bit bland, isn’t it?”
The music itself was fine.
The sound was much richer than before and blended well with the game’s atmosphere.
And yet, the overwhelming feeling was one of blandness.
Even as I said it, it was a cautious critique.
Considering Jo A-yun’s mental state, I judged that such a negative assessment could have an adverse effect.
But Jo A-yun’s reaction was unexpected.
“Yes! The BGM is bland…!”
There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in Jo A-yun’s bright smile.
No, if anything, she seemed delighted, as if she had gotten the exact reaction she wanted.
My curiosity, and simultaneously my anticipation, soared.
“You have something in mind, don’t you?”
“Yes!”
She wasn’t stuttering at all today.
Was this an expression of confidence?
I unconsciously straightened my posture.
“Alright, let’s hear it.”
“First, please add the sound to the game…!”
It wasn’t a difficult request.
I applied the files to the prototype we had made, following Jo A-yun’s instructions.
Then came the next instruction.
“Now, you can play it…!”
I didn’t quite get it.
Despite my confusion, I did as I was told.
The art team gathered behind me.
“…Why don’t you guys just play it separately?”
“What for?”
“…”
Good point. We were all here to check it anyway.
I took a deep breath and launched the game.
That was the moment.
[Aaaaaaaah!]
“…”
“…”
The intro sound rang out.
Han Seo-rim’s gaze grew sharp.
I instinctively gestured toward Jo A-yun with my eyes, but…
“Th-the President told me to…”
A-yun, having shriveled up in an instant, dodged the blame!
“…We’ll talk later. Separately.”
The pressure from Han Seo-rim’s hand on my shoulder intensified.
This woman had a grip.
“…Okay.”
At this point, there was only one way out.
I had to hope that A-yun’s sound design would distract Han Seo-rim.
My prayer became a little more desperate.
And so, the first playthrough of the demo with the new sound began.
* * *
A-yun quietly focused on the reactions of Yeon-ho and the art team.
As expected, for the first few minutes of the game, they seemed indifferent.
For the prologue’s beach scene, she had used somber and lyrical music.
The sound didn’t particularly offer any deeper immersion.
That was fine.
She had already taken that part into account and hadn’t considered it very important.
The real show began in the Hell of Heretics.
*Bwaaam—!*
The music, a blend of trembling strings processed through a synthesizer laid over the base, resounded.
Around that time, Yeon-ho’s expression shifted slightly.
Her intention was starting to take effect.
‘They don’t have to be consciously aware of it.’
In a game, sound is an ‘element’ that adds to the immersion.
It’s a supporting character, not the protagonist.
A-yun had created the BGM with that in mind.
All for that one single moment when the sound would become the protagonist.
“Ah, the fist is about to drop here.”
As he moved through the map, the ground rumbled three times.
A red disc appeared on the floor.
It was the moment Yeon-ho dodged it with a familiar movement.
Craaaaaack—!
“Gah!”
A scream from Seo-rim echoed along with the shattering sound.
Immediately after.
“Huh?”
Yeon-ho’s expression changed.
His eyes widened slightly, his gaze fixed more intently on the monitor.
It spoke volumes.
The music was now beginning to occupy a larger share of Yeon-ho’s awareness.
And it wasn’t just Yeon-ho.
The art team, who had been watching quietly, also began to stare at the monitor with dumbfounded expressions.
A sharp, heavy BGM was the only thing cutting through the office silence.
I could see their expressions tense up the moment another disc appeared.
Then, the shattering sound.
Craaaaaack—!
The office fell silent.
Until the demo playthrough was over.
“S-so, how was it…?”
A-yun was confident.
It was because she was certain she had created something so amazing it even surprised herself.
It was a confidence strong enough to erase the self-doubting persona she usually wore.
The anticipated reaction was praise.
A flicker of anxiety turned into a thirst that pounded in A-yun’s chest.
The reward was sweet.
“…You did well. Beyond my imagination. No, to a degree I couldn’t even have imagined.”
“A-yun, A-yun! What is this! It’s incredible!”
“Come here! Let your big sis give you a hug!”
“Eek!”
The excitable duo pulled A-yun into a hug, pinching and pulling at her cheeks.
They ruffled her hair and lifted her up, spinning her around and around.
Just as the world stopped spinning and she was regaining her senses, she felt Yeon-ho’s hand on her head.
“You did a really great job, A-yun.”
The feeling of her heart beating in time with the gentle taps on her head.
A-yun shivered at the sensation, then broke into a bashful grin.
“Ehehe…”
It was then that someone spoke up.
“But aren’t a few sounds missing? Specifically, the sound the illusions make during the Divine Punishment pattern.”
“Ah…! That!”
It was an expected question.
Divine Punishment, the final pattern where black illusions charge from a pure white background.
She hadn’t included the sound for it because she hadn’t ‘collected’ it yet.
“C-can I ask for a little help? I think it would be better to use real laughter or screams.”
*Flinch.* Seo-rim’s shoulders jerked.
“Y-yes…?”
Yeon-ho looked at Seo-rim.
The excitable duo also looked at Seo-rim.
The corners of Seo-rim’s mouth twitched upward awkwardly.
“Wh-what is it? Why is everyone looking at me?”
The moment she took a step back,
*Thump!*
Yeon-ho grabbed her wrist.
But A-yun stopped him.
“N-no, that’s okay… I already have plenty of sources for big sis’s screams…”
A-yun glanced over at the excitable duo.
“…I need laughter. Quite a lot of it.”
Let’s think back.
Who in this office had the most raucous laugh?
Who laughed like the most unhinged person?
The excitable duo.
And the heretics were crazed lunatics who had lost their minds.
No matter how you looked at it.
“B-big sisters…”
Their laughter was the right fit.
“…F-follow me to the recording studio.”
A-yun smiled bashfully.
The excitable duo blinked, then slowly nodded.
What happened next requires no lengthy explanation.
Only one thing is certain.
From that day on, the two of them never played pranks on A-yun again.
“Kyahahaha!”
“Pyahahaha!”
“Again.”
“Kyahahahaha!”
“Pyahahaha!”
“Again.”
“…Kyaaaaaahahahah!”
“Again.”
A-yun, burning with passion, was terrifying.
As much as Yeon-ho, or perhaps even more so.
“Again.”
“Kyaaaaaaah! Hahahahah!!!”
“Pyaaaaaaaah!!!”
“Th-this is good… Hehe…”
Especially the way she ground people down with a smile on her face.
“G-good work!”
In any case, the sound design was complete!
* * *
The demo version was ready for submission by September, at the tail end of summer.
Studio Rewind submitted the game to G-STAR without delay.
With the release of Space Craft 2 and the event’s move to Busan, a fiercer competition for booths than in previous years was expected, and indeed, the competition among small studios was brutal.
Amidst that competition, I learned something for certain.
“Success. We secured a booth.”
The name value of our previous game, *Hellic*, was quite significant at G-STAR.
“Eight computers, and our spot is near the main booths. In two months, we’re going to Busan.”
It was that kind of era.
An era where making a game that gained recognition overseas would boost its reputation at home.
An era where such things were a point of pride for a game’s quality.
*Hellic* received high marks in that regard.
It seemed the ‘Cancer Giant bounty incident’ in North America had left a strong impression on the organizers.
Of course, we wouldn’t get the same level of support as a major game company.
That was only natural.
But, we had received the best possible support a small studio like ours could hope for.
With the start of our official promotional activities, there was now one thing to focus on.
“First, let’s get the word out. That we’re participating in G-STAR.”
To put it simply, it was like saying:
[Come try our restaurant.]
“Seo-rim, can I borrow your community ID for a bit?”
“Huh? I mean, you can…”
“Okay, email it to me.”
That evening, after finishing the prep work, I posted a thread on the community site.
`[(Promotion) SeorimSeorim: Hellic 2! We're coming to G-STAR!]`
It was the most surefire way I knew to get a wide-reaching reaction.
The effect was immediate.
The news spread.