084. The Art of Writing a Proposal (Part Two)

After pausing briefly to give Erisawa Tomoya a moment to absorb and understand, Jiang Yu continued, “Similarly, the planner also needs to set the course for the story’s development.”

“So, the planner’s main task here is to write the storyline summary. For example, at a certain time and place, which people had a conversation themed [XXX], and what decisions did they ultimately make. The specifics of the conversation and each character’s inner thoughts are left to the scriptwriter to flesh out.”

Watching Tomoya and Megumi Kato listen attentively, Jiang Yu couldn’t help but want to elaborate further. Taking a sip of water to quench his thirst, he turned the computer screen squarely in front of him, tapping the keyboard as he spoke, “Of course, the story doesn’t have to follow the planner’s vision completely. If the scriptwriter comes up with a better direction that both sides agree on, changes can definitely be made.”

“There are also well-known scriptwriters in the industry who have absolute control over the narrative. They usually handle the entire script creation themselves, and the planners working with them generally leave this aspect alone.”

“Of course, there are also rare geniuses who single-handedly create the script, artwork, music, and programming. For a fan circle like ours, we don’t need to be so strict. If you think of a better idea, just bring it up anytime, and we’ll discuss it together.”

“Generally, the script is completed much faster than the artwork, because many key scenes can’t be imagined by the artist alone and require the scriptwriter’s text to guide them.”

“As the artwork is being finished, those responsible for scripting and post-production have to get busy. Nowadays, there are plenty of open-source engines for making galgames online—like KIRIKIRI—which make the process incredibly simple. You just need to package the voice, CG, text, and video in order, then refine and beautify it.”

“This means the main job for the script or programmer becomes post-production optimization. After all, open-source engines aren’t designed specifically for your game, so some functions will inevitably deviate from your vision.”

“Most open-source engines have their own strengths and weaknesses. Some deliver impressive effects but are inefficient, leading to frequent lag, which makes the scripting optimization task heavy. Others run smoothly but fail to meet expectations in terms of effects. And there are oddball engines that neither perform well nor offer anything remarkable in 3D rendering—one wonders what purpose they serve.”

“Choosing between frame rate and visual quality remains a headache even for the top game companies.”

“When scripting work can be finished basically depends on the artist’s progress. Even if you want to optimize, if the game isn’t yet done, you don’t know if more work will be needed.”

“Once the scripting is done, the game is virtually complete. The last step is playtesting, finding and fixing any bugs.”

“Normally, this process should be done concurrently with development, but since we’re just a fan circle, we aren’t pressured by release deadlines or commercial concerns, so we can leave it for the end. After all, we’re rather short-staffed…”

“Ah, of course, there’s also the promotional work before the game’s release—participating in major gaming expos, posting live tests and videos, using official social media—all to generate buzz and prepare for launch.”

At this point, Jiang Yu’s lengthy explanation had nearly reached its end. Without waiting for Tomoya or Megumi to react, Jiang Yu drained his cup and focused his attention on the screen, ready to finish the remaining work as quickly as possible.

Thanks to Jiang Yu’s words, Tomoya and Megumi now had a preliminary understanding of the game development process, their minds racing with thoughts.

Especially Tomoya—he finally realized that the spur-of-the-moment idea to make a game would require so much to bring a finished product to life. Not to mention anything else, if Jiang Yu hadn’t joined, just handling the scripting would have forced him to spend an enormous amount of time learning how to code.

Thinking of this, Tomoya felt a flicker of relief at Jiang Yu’s involvement, though he was still quite curious about where Jiang Yu had picked up all this game-making knowledge.

Well… judging by Tomoya’s own experience broadening his horizons, he could deduce that Jiang Yu definitely didn’t get all this information from watching anime.

Regardless of whether such educational anime had aired recently, the fact that an entire game-making storyline could be animated was questionable at best. Besides, if there were an anime about the process of making games, Tomoya was sure he’d already seen it.

This, then, is why you’re so certain, isn’t it, Tomoya-kun…

Well, well…

Glancing at Jiang Yu, who was utterly absorbed in the computer screen and typing rapidly, Tomoya suppressed his questions and curled up on the sofa, turning his attention to his phone.

Megumi’s thoughts were much simpler. Though she didn’t know how the discussion about “plot twists” had shifted into a science lesson on planning and game development, and despite her inability to accept what Jiang Yu and Tomoya were saying, she was at least listening with interest.

Watching Jiang Yu slip into work mode, Megumi wondered silently, “This must be the first time I’ve seen Jiang-kun working, right?”

She’d seen him at school, and had watched him play the piano—as he himself hadn’t seemed to notice… Thinking of this, Megumi felt a bit sulky. Is her presence really that insignificant? Sometimes she even played the role of waitress, serving tea and water, after all.

He’d never noticed her, not even once…

With a helpless shake of her head, Megumi let out a soft sigh, unsure what she could do. She simply sat in her chair, gazing absentmindedly at Jiang Yu in his working state.

Jiang Yu’s eyes shone as he stared at the screen, his fingers flying faster and faster across the keys. Though he was just adapting a successful game he knew into a proposal, for Jiang Yu, who was writing a proposal independently for the first time, it was a new and unique experience.

Just as Jiang Yu was finishing up the character profiles, a voice suddenly spoke from behind him, “Big brother~ what have you been doing all this time?”