Taeyeon spent the entire weekend examining his new “status‑window” ability and managed to pin down a few rules:
- The window can be toggled on and off with a simple mental command.
- Only job‑related stats are shown, and only in a very concise form.
- Numbers in parentheses next to a stat seem to represent “potential,” but they don’t appear for everyone.
- “Affinity” quantifies how much the other person likes (or dislikes) him.
- He cannot view his own status window.
I can’t see my own stats, which is annoying… but this is still amazing.
And that wasn’t all.
I feel brimming with confidence.
My memory has gotten incredible, too!
This wasn’t just in his head. Knowledge that had long faded into a blur now resurfaced as vividly as if he’d learned it moments ago—even trivial details he’d barely glanced at.
Whenever he removed the bracelet, the sharp memory and confidence faded; when he put it back on, they returned. There was no doubt: these powers came from the bracelet.
A gift from the heavens. If I use it well, it’ll be a huge help.
Among recognized producers, only a tiny fraction ever achieve true success. The main reason, people say, is talent management. Even if you’re lacking in raw ability, you can make a great game if you put the right people in the right places—and later, that same skill makes running a company far easier.
With his heart racing, Taeyeon arrived at work Monday morning and found himself waiting for the elevator with a cheerful planner from the Pandemonium team, Yoon Sora.
“Good morning,” she chirped.
Taeyeon took a quiet breath and uttered the command he’d practiced:
Status window, on!
A translucent panel appeared before his eyes.
[Yoon Sora]
Game Designer (Content)
Content: 6/10 (15)
System: 4/10
Level Design: 6/10
Scenario: 5/10
Affinity: 5/10
Short and sweet, but not detailed enough to judge her fully.
I’ll keep comparing numbers today and get a clearer picture.
He headed for the studio.
Two months wasn’t enough time to overhaul everything. The fastest gains would come from design.
Let’s focus on the scenario quests.
First, though, he needed hard data on everyone’s abilities. Taeyeon summoned the entire planning team to the conference room:
- 2 system planners
- 2 content planners
- 2 level planners
- 1 scenario writer
- plus the planning‑team lead — eight people in all.
“You all know the CEO tested last week’s build,” Taeyeon began. A tense hush fell over the room. “I’ll keep this brief. Before we start any revisions, we have to squash as many bugs as possible. Let’s share what each of you is stuck on. System team first.”
A bespectacled, heavyset man in a plaid shirt stood up.
“Regarding the combat system, first…”
[Yeo Min‑seok]
Game Designer (System Lead)
System: 5/10
Content: 4/10
Level Design: 4/10
Scenario: 5/10
Affinity: 3/10
Only a 5 in System? That’s barely higher than Sora’s.
Right, Sora did say she handled system design at her first job…
Comparing their old design docs should reveal how wide the gap really was.
Next came another system planner.
“I’m Jeong Hoon‑seop from the system team. First, the skill system’s problems…”
[Jeong Hoon‑seop]
Game Designer (System)
System: 8/10 (15)
Content: 7/10
Level Design: 7/10
Scenario: 6/10
Affinity: 5/10
Taeyeon’s eyes widened.
Those stats are high! And he’s just a regular staffer?
After the system team, the scenario writer stood up—a woman in her early thirties, on her third project, five years in the industry.
[Choi Soo‑yeon]
Game Designer (Scenario)
System: 3/10
Content: 3/10
Level Design: 3/10
Scenario: 4/10
Affinity: 2/10
Taeyeon stared, dumbfounded. Her numbers were awful, and her affinity was nearly rock bottom—yet she declared sharply:
“To be blunt, every quest problem comes down to a lack of manpower and the resulting drop in quality.”
Blaming staffing, not her own skill. Taeyeon ignored her and checked the next person: a man shuffling around in slippers, hoodie up, hands in pockets—a former wannabe hip‑hop artist.
[Shin Soo‑kyung]
Game Designer (Level Lead)
System: 4/10
Content: 5/10
Level Design: 5/10
Scenario: 4/10
Affinity: 4/10
Middling.
He was starting to get a feel for the numbers when his gaze landed on another planner.
[Baek Young‑hoon]
Game Designer (Level)
System: 5/10
Content: 5/10
Level Design: 6/10
Scenario: 7/10 (15)
Affinity: 5/10
What the—? Why is his Scenario stat so high—and with unlocked potential?
He must have done scenario work somewhere in the past. And scenario quests were exactly their most urgent problem. Taeyeon berated himself for never noticing the hidden talent sitting in the level team.
Last came the team lead.
[Jeong Yoo‑hwan]
Game Designer (Planning Lead)
System: 6/10
Content: 4/10
Level Design: 5/10
Scenario: 4/10
Affinity: 6/10
When all the presentations ended, Taeyeon spoke:
“Team lead, compile every issue we discussed into Excel, break it down by specialty, and share it with everyone.”
Back at his desk, he opened the shared folder accessible only to the Pandemonium dev team—inside were résumés and portfolios reserved for managers. He spent the rest of the morning cross‑referencing status numbers, portfolios, and current work.
Got it.
He glanced at the notes he’d been scribbling:
- Levels 1‑3 — Novice
- Levels 4‑6 — Intermediate
- Levels 7‑8 — Advanced
- Levels 9‑10 — Veteran
Simple is best.
- Novice: 1–2 years in the field. They have the basics but lack experience and struggle to keep up in meetings. Usually treated as future potential rather than current firepower.
- Intermediate: Can handle content and collaborate across specialties; start receiving “experienced” pay.
- Advanced: Skilled enough to lead a team or department.
- Veteran: No matter the project or studio, they always deliver—these people become the core of any project.
Now, rating our leads with that scale…
- Jeong Yoo‑hwan (team lead): Intermediate
- Yeo Min‑seok (system lead): Intermediate
- Shin Soo‑kyung (level lead): Intermediate
- Ji Seo‑ah (content lead): Intermediate
Not great, but understandable. Advanced and veteran talent command high salaries and rarely apply to a mid‑sized studio like Bless; you usually have to head‑hunt them.
After some thought, Taeyeon made up his mind.
I’ll reorganize the planning team later. First, fix the scenario department.
“Baek Young‑hoon, you’ve worked in scenario before, haven’t you?”
“Huh? How did you know?”
Startled, Baek looked around the meeting room Taeyeon had called him into.
“I remembered something from your interview. Could you tell me exactly what you did?”
“I… used to serialize web novels.”
“Web novels?”
“Yes, on a paid platform.”
“Can I still read them? What’s the title?”
“It’s old, so I’m embarrassed, but….”
“It’s fine—just tell me.”
Reluctantly, Baek gave him the info. The title was The Moonlight Knights, a fantasy series. Taeyeon downloaded the app, searched, and was impressed: 350 chapters completed, averaging 5,000 views each.
That’s impressive.
He read the prologue carefully: a dark medieval Europe‑style setting about a special unit called the Moonlight Knights who handled the kingdom’s dirtiest work. The characters were vivid; the backdrop, conflict, and combat scenes were expertly written.
Smiling, Taeyeon praised him.
“Why on earth are you stuck in level design when you can write like this?”
“My dream is to become a game producer. I want to make a game with my own world and story. If I become a scenario writer, I can’t do that.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Producers and team leads need to be good at system and level design. Even you, PD, came from system planning.”
“By that logic, programmers have the biggest advantage—they’re the ones who actually implement the design.”
Baek had no comeback.
Taeyeon grinned.
“How about taking on scenario design?”
“M‑me?”
“I’m confident you’ll do great.”
“I’ve never done it before….”
“But you already understand every design discipline—and at a solid level. You’ve been studying other departments’ work on your own, right?”
“……!”
He looked as if he’d seen a ghost. Taeyeon pressed his advantage.
“Do you know how rare a scenario quest designer who can also plan is? With that skill set you could earn far more than a mediocre department head—name your price.”
Baek was clearly tempted. Taeyeon sealed the deal:
“I’ll make sure next year’s salary review reflects your new role—if you perform in the position I’m envisioning.”
“And that position is…?”
“A true scenario designer.”
Taeyeon’s voice firmed.
“Show everyone exactly what that means—and mentor Choi Soo‑yeon.”
“Mentor Ms. Choi?”
“You know she’s lacking as a planner. Say yes, and you’ll be scenario lead.”
Baek wavered, then surrendered to temptation.
“I’ll give it my best!”
“Great. On your way out, please send in Choi Soo‑yeon.”
“You… called for me?”
Heart pounding, Choi Soo‑yeon sat opposite Taeyeon, who looked colder than a mid‑winter wind.
“We’re keeping the concept, but overhauling everything else—world lore, main and side stories, quests, flow, character backgrounds, the tutorial, the lot. Can you handle that?”
“……!”
She froze. Before she could answer, Taeyeon asked abruptly:
“Ever tried writing web fiction?”
“Uh—well, I once dabbled, briefly….”
“Then read this.”
He handed her The Moonlight Knights.
“Sit there and read it all. Take your time—I’ll wait.”
Wide‑eyed and confused, Choi Soo‑yeon began to read.
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