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Making Game: Chapter 6 – A Letter Inside a Letter
🕑 Added 2025-09-13 10:08:01 +0000 UTCThe headmaster's office at Aethelgard buzzed with a mechanical silence, the low hum of the air recyclers the only sound. Headmaster Jasrun Dovan tapped a single, rhythmic finger on his expansive desk. His eyes were fixed on the hologram floating before him, a detailed, rotating bust of Dorian Kepler, with his academic and biographical information scrolling on the side.
"So you were saying," Jasrun said, his voice a low, dangerous calm, "this scholarship student did not become a Solar."
In the room, standing at a respectful distance, were Faculty Head Ororili and Professor Hendrick.
"Professor Hendrick is quite close to this student," Ororili offered, her tone professionally neutral. "He had been particularly excited to make him come to his Compadres major."
Hendrick, looking as listless as ever, glanced at Ororili, then turned his tired eyes to Jasrun and sighed. "It is just a shame for him. He is a bright kid. There are many paths other than being a Solar, but that kid has always been straight headed to the Solar majors from the beginning."
Ororili chimed in. "I mean, can you blame the kid? The Luprime identifier even said he was likely to be a Solar in the future. A strong one at that. That is why we accepted him on the scholarship in the first place."
Jasrun ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, his tapping finger finally stopping. "What is the percentage of misreads from the identifier?"
"From the same age and class as him, only he that was identified to be a Solar, turned out not to be," Ororili stated.
Jasrun's eyes narrowed. "So you are saying it was just a misidentification from the Luprime HQ."
"Most likely," Ororili conceded. "But such a case has never been seen before. That is why we are not sure what to do."
"Should you not tell the faculty about us dropping him from the Solar majors?" Hendrick asked, his voice flat.
"No!" Jasrun's voice was suddenly sharp, cutting through the quiet. "We cannot do that. Our reputation of having every single scholarship student become a Solar has been our backbone. If word gets out that one of our scholarship students did not cut it, it will ruin us."
"How bad can it be?" Hendrick started. "We are-"
Jasrun cut him off, turning his gaze to Ororili. "Go back to your office and draft a paper of formal withdrawal for student Dorian Kepler. Add three months of stipend so he signs the paper without issue."
"But sir," Hendrick interjected, a rare spark of protest in his voice. "My faculty can take him in. He is talented for-"
"Thank you for your time," Jasrun said, cutting him off once again, his tone leaving no room for argument. He turned back to his holographic monitor, effectively dismissing them.
Hendrick stood frozen for a moment before turning and leaving the office. He jogged a bit to catch up with Ororili in the pristine white corridor.
"Professor Ororili, wait," he called out.
Ororili paused, turning. "What is it, Professor Hendrick?"
"Can you also send my letter to student Kepler at the same time as your formal withdrawal?" Hendrick asked, his expression earnest. "The one you are about to send him."
Ororili paused and thought for a long moment. She let out a soft sigh. "Alright. Just send it to my office before lunch. I will send the letters out after lunch."
"Thank you," Hendrick said, a hint of relief in his voice. He then turned and jogged back towards his own faculty wing.
…
Dorian stood in the doorway and waved goodbye to John, Lyra, and Marcus. For the first time in years, his father was the one taking the younger kids to school. He watched them disappear down the corridor, their cheerful chatter fading away.
Dorian stepped back inside, the apartment door hissing shut behind him. The space felt empty, shrouded in the artificial night of the lower levels. He sighed and started walking towards his room.
"Dorian, where are you going?" Leo's voice piped up from its charging dock. "Are you going to sulk again?"
Dorian grabbed a pillow from the couch and tossed it playfully at the hovering sphere. "Stop talking nonsense."
"I was being sarcastic," Leo stated flatly.
Dorian paused halfway to his room, a smile playing on his lips. "Trying new things, are we?"
"If you can change, so can I," the Compadre retorted.
Dorian stepped into his room and turned back. "Tell me a detailed report after you try to change, can you?" he chuckled, then closed the door. Leo spun once and returned to its dock.
Dorian slumped onto his bed and closed his eyes. System, he thought.
Sure enough, the simple, rainbow hued panel from the other night shimmered into existence before him. He let out a soft laugh. "I thought I was hallucinating. So it's real, huh?" His gaze then fell upon the sealed letter on his desk, the one his father had left.
He stood, took the letter, and sat down at his desk. He broke the seal and began to read. It was a formal withdrawal letter, formatted with cold, corporate politeness, as if he was the one choosing to drop out. He sighed. He knew the academy would kick him out of the Solar majors, but he never thought they would expel him entirely.
As he read further, he found a second letter tucked inside. This one explained that if he agreed to the formal withdrawal and signed the attached document, the academy would deposit the remainder of his semester's scholarship stipend into his account. Three months' worth. A severance package.
Dorian leaned back in his chair, his eyes tracing the cracks in the low ceiling of his room. He steeled himself. It will be alright, he thought. I have the System.
He put the letter down and rotated his chair to face the empty space in his room. System. The panel appeared once again, displaying the {Resonance: 1000} count. He reached out and tapped the only interactive element, the glowing resonance symbol. The panel changed, the text now reading: {No Banner Unlocked.}
Dorian muttered to himself, "So these banners are like a gacha thingy that I can use my resonance on, right?" He looked at his violin resting in its case, then at his sketchbook, then at his own hands, and finally at the photos of his family that dotted the walls. A fire began to kindle in his chest.
"My knowledge of grand compositions that have never touched the ears of this universe," he whispered, his voice growing stronger. "My knowledge of epic motion pictures that they have never seen before. And the art of video games that will invoke all of a being's emotions." A fierce, determined smile spread across his face. "This is my magnum opus."
He spun his chair back to the desk, grabbed a stylus, and with a hand that did not shake, he signed the withdrawal paper, both with his handwritten signature and his unique digital identity.
Dorian grabbed a fresh envelope from one of his desk drawers. As he did, the folded official document from the academy shifted, and another, smaller, sealed letter slipped out from within its pages and fell onto the desk.
Dorian blinked at it, then let out a dry chuckle. "Cool. Matryoshka letter, hehe." He picked it up, turning the plain, unmarked envelope over in his hands. "Does this one have another letter inside it again?" he muttered, breaking the seal. He unfolded the single sheet of paper and began to read.
❏——❏
Dorian,
If you are reading this, then you have received the academy's official, and frankly, cowardly, correspondence. I wonder if you remember me from the end of your ceremony. I was there. I saw you walk back to the transport ships. You were a lifeless boy, a hollow shell. It was as if you had turned yourself into a Compadre, all external function with no internal light. It was a failure of our institution, not of your spirit.
For that, and for the letter you hold in your other hand, I must ask for your forgiveness.
To be completely honest with you, Headmaster Dovan is concerned only with appearances. The identifier from Luprime marked you as a high-potential Solar, and your failure represents a statistical flaw in his perfect record of scholarship students. He is not withdrawing your scholarship because you lack talent; he is doing it to erase an inconvenient data point. Our actions are harmful, a betrayal of the promise we make to nurture potential, wherever we find it.
I cannot imagine how this must make you feel. Angry? Betrayed? Numb? I find myself asking, what could I have done differently? Should I have argued more forcefully? Perhaps.
So, I wish to make an attempt to amend this. My offer from before still stands, but let me make it official. Forget the scholarship. Forget the formal majors. If you are interested, I invite you to work with me, directly, as my personal apprentice in the study of Compadres. No grades, no pressure, just knowledge.
Professor Hendrick
❏——❏
Dorian finished the letter, his expression unreadable. He slowly folded it back up. "It would have been cool if it was a Matryoshka letter, professor," he whispered to himself. He slid the heartfelt offer into one of his desk drawers and gently closed it. "Sorry, professor. I do not think I can come back."
He took the signed withdrawal form, slid it into the fresh envelope, and sealed it. He then walked to the main living area and activated the postal service on the wall terminal. Several minutes later, a small, disc-shaped Post Compadre zipped up to their apartment's front door, hovering patiently.
Dorian opened the door and handed the letter to the drone. "To Aethelgard Academy, please," he said. "They will know what to do with it."
"Package received," the Compadre chirped in its generic, programmed voice. "Destination: Aethelgard Academy Central Administration. Standard delivery protocols engaged. Have a productive day."
The drone zipped away into the gloom of the lower level corridors. Dorian watched it go, a small, resolute smile on his face, and closed the door.
…
Time, which had dragged on for months in a grey, monotonous haze, now flew by. Dorian spent the entire day locked in his room, not in despair, but in a state of intense, focused creation. The object of his attention was not a screen or a violin, but a simple, paper-bound notebook. His new grimoire.
He had filled pages with meticulous, handwritten notes. The first page was a bulleted list titled "System - What I Know."
▪ Resonance is a currency. Current: 1000.
▪ Generated when my creations cause an emotional impact on an audience.
▪ Source of first Resonance (1000 pts): The violin performance of "Café 1930". Audience: John Kepler.
▪ Resonance is used to "pull" from a Gacha banner.
▪ System stated only Games can create Gacha banners.
Another page was filled with theories and questions. 'How is Resonance calculated? Does a powerful emotion from one person equal a mild emotion from a hundred? Does the type of emotion matter? Joy vs. Sadness vs. Anger? Is Resonance a one-time gain per person per creation, or can people re-experience the art for more points?' For now, it was all just possibilities.
He turned the page. Here, his Mnemonic Echo was on full display. He had created lists.
Music:
▪ Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen: (High complexity, massive emotional range. Good for high Resonance?)
▪ Lofi hip hop radio - beats to relax/study to: (Low complexity, but widespread, long-term appeal. Better for farming points over time?)
▪ Smells Like Teen Spirit - Nirvana: (Raw anger and angst. A new emotion to test?)
Movies:
▪ The Matrix: (Action + deep philosophical concepts. Could it generate a unique type of Resonance?)
▪ Up (First 10 minutes): (Concentrated emotional devastation. A Resonance bomb?)
▪ The Dark Knight: (The Joker's chaotic philosophy vs. Batman's order. How would this world react?)
Games (Banner Possibilities):
▪ Dark Souls:
Potential Name: "Heirs of Fire"
Potential Drops: Estus Flask Schematic (healing item), Art of the Parry (skill), Soul of Cinder (Inheritance??). High risk, high reward.
▪ Stardew Valley:
Potential Name: "The Valley's Gift"
Potential Drops: Golden Scythe Blueprint (resource tool?), Friend of the Junimos (luck/social buff?), Grandfather's Blessing (long-term growth ability). Low-stress game, maybe low-tier but useful items?
▪ Metal Gear Solid:
Potential Name: "Tactical Espionage Operations"
Potential Drops: Cardboard Box (stealth gear!), CQC Training (skill), The Patriot (???).
He connected the clues. The System had been clear: only games could create banners. But games were complex and time-consuming to make. Music or a short animated film would be faster. Perhaps he could use a simpler creation to farm the initial Resonance he needed to fund the development of his first game. The possibilities were endless, a branching tree of strategies.
The soft hiss of the apartment's front door opening pulled him from his thoughts. He could hear the familiar, cheerful voices of Lyra and Marcus, and his father's tired but warm responses. Evening had arrived.
Dorian looked down at the pages filled with the ghosts of his past life, now repurposed as a blueprint for his future. A slow, confident smile spread across his face. He closed the notebook, the quiet snap of the cover a declaration. The planning was done. It was time to begin.
