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CHAPTER 2: Max's Game Creation
🕑 Added 2025-04-13 12:39:23 +0000 UTCMax descended from his room to the kitchen, the polished metal stairs of their spacious home cool beneath his bare feet. The morning sunlight streamed through reinforced windows, casting golden rectangles across the sleek countertops. He grabbed a couple of water bottles and some snacks from the counter—simple provisions for what he knew would be a long day of work.
His mother, Lily, glanced up from her data tablet, her eyes briefly shifting away from the morning news feed. Unlike many in their district who worked for government institutions, Lily maintained their home while Max's father, an A-rank adventurer, worked for one of the most prestigious guilds in the region. The family's comfortable lifestyle was a testament to his father's high rank and dangerous profession.
"Max, what are you doing up so early?" she asked, curiosity evident in her tone. "You're usually not this active during holiday breaks."
Max turned to her, trying to mask his excitement beneath casual indifference. "Mom, I'm making a game," he replied, tucking the snacks into his pocket. "Just came down to grab some fuel so I don't get hungry."
Lily's expression shifted from surprise to skepticism as she crossed her arms. "Since when did you start studying during the holidays?" she asked, eyes narrowing slightly.
Max shrugged, fabricating his excuse with practiced ease. "Our exams are coming up, and we have to upload a game for a competition. Professor Tanner said the top submissions might get noticed by the Defense Department."
As expected, Lily's expression softened, and she gave a small nod of approval. "Well, it's good that you're finally taking your studies seriously," she said with a faint smile. "This will ease your father's worries about your future."
Her words carried the weight of unspoken expectations. Max's father had always hoped his son would follow in his footsteps, perhaps joining his guild someday after achieving a suitable rank. The family's status demanded nothing less.
"Sure will," Max nodded back, thinking to himself, You wouldn't believe what I'm actually about to create—something that might change this entire world's understanding of games.
Returning to his room, Max placed the bottles and snacks on his desk before sitting down in his chair. On the table, a collection of game cores lay scattered—mostly F-rank cores that students were given for practice.
He selected an F-rank game core, a simple crystalline structure no larger than a golf ball, faintly luminescent with a pale blue glow. It hummed slightly against his palm, responding to his proximity. Max took a deep breath, remembering his Academy training as he channeled his mana into the core, feeling the familiar pull as his consciousness faded.
The next moment, he found himself suspended in a vast, pristine white expanse, floating weightlessly in what experienced programmers called "the Canvas"—the raw creative space within a game core.
His mind raced with ideas from his other life, processing countless games he could recreate that wouldn't exceed the limited capacity of an F-rank core. Titles like CS:GO and Valorant stood out in his memories—their tactical gameplay and skill-based mechanics had revolutionized competitive gaming in that other world. For a moment, he considered Valorant, recalling how it had perfected the balance between tactical thinking and precise gunplay, a true masterpiece created by Riot Games.
But for his first creation, Max wanted something with broader appeal yet still impactful. His thoughts drifted to his own experiences as a gamer and an aspiring eSports player in that other life. He remembered how he had once dreamt of becoming a professional player, not in PC or console games, but in a mobile game: PUBG: New State.
In that world, his country had limited infrastructure for PC gaming. The minority who played on high-end computers didn't create enough market demand for large-scale tournaments or professional leagues. Mobile gaming, however, had been accessible to everyone—even those with modest means could afford a decent smartphone. PUBG Mobile had become a cultural phenomenon, connecting players across socioeconomic divides.
A bittersweet smile crossed Max's face as he recalled the journey of PUBG: New State. Initially launched as an ambitious project with mechanics inspired by PUBG PC and cutting-edge graphics that pushed mobile hardware to its limits, the game had faced significant challenges. During its beta phase, optimization issues plagued the experience, causing frame drops and crashes on all but the most powerful devices. Players had high hopes, but the rough start drove many back to the familiar comfort of the original PUBG Mobile.
A loyal community had stuck with New State, believing in its potential and vision. Over time, through careful updates and optimizations, the game improved significantly—but the masses never returned in the numbers the developers had hoped. Publicly, players blamed the graphics or the interface, but Max knew the real reason: the mechanics were too complex for a player base accustomed to simplicity.
Years of playing PUBG Mobile had ingrained certain expectations—assault rifles effective at every range, shotguns dominating close-quarters combat but somehow still lethal at medium range, simplified ballistics that forgave poor positioning. The realism and complexity of New State simply didn't resonate with those players, despite being objectively closer to the PC experience that had made the franchise famous.
That's why, Max thought as the white void around him pulsed with potential, I won't make the same mistakes. For his first game, he wouldn't replicate PUBG: New State entirely. Instead, he'd take its best features—weapon customization, the dynamic Avenpost system, and innovative mechanics like role-based gameplay and territory control from PUBG PC—and create something entirely new. He'd blend the best elements of both worlds into an experience that would captivate this reality's players while still teaching them valuable survival skills.
Max leaned back in his mental space and called out, "System, how much time will it take to make PUBG?"
The system's voice responded immediately, resonating directly in his mind. "As you currently have 500 mana points, creating the entire PUBG game with all maps and features will take approximately one year of continuous work."
Max groaned, running a hand through his hair as the blue outlines flickered in response to his frustration. "A year? That's way too long! System, I just want to make it with only one map—Erangel. I'll update it later once it becomes popular."
The system calculated briefly before replying. "With the scope reduced to only the Erangel map and core gameplay features, the creation time will be approximately one week, assuming optimal mana utilization."
Max exhaled in relief. "A week, huh? Well, today is Sunday, and I have one week of preparation leave before submissions are due. After that, our uploaded games will be tested by the board and the public. I guess I have enough time. System, let's start."
"Understood, Host. Begin visualization of your creation."
Max closed his eyes, focusing intently on the first component. "First, the spawn island." The moment he vocalized his intention, the white void around him began to shift and transform. The emptiness beneath his feet solidified, taking shape as patches of dirt and grass, forming the small island that would serve as the pre-match gathering space.
In his mind's eye, Max pictured every detail from his memories—the broken airplane slowly materializing in the distance, its metallic body rusted and worn from years of exposure to the elements. Large shipping containers appeared, stacked haphazardly across the terrain, their colors faded but still recognizable. Weapon racks filled with unloaded firearms materialized in strategic locations, allowing players to practice their aim before the match began.
As each element took shape in the virtual space, Max felt his mana being drawn from him in steady streams, fueling the creation process. The system handled the complex calculations and technical implementation, but the creative vision and energy came entirely from him.
After hours of intense concentration, the spawn island stood complete—a perfect recreation from his memories, down to the last rusted bolt and blade of grass. Max stumbled backward, suddenly aware of the physical toll the creation process had taken. He willed himself to return to his physical body, gasping as his consciousness snapped back to his room.
His hands trembled as he reached for a water bottle, gulping it down greedily. Sweat had soaked through his clothes, and his head pounded with the familiar ache of mana depletion. He glanced at the system display hovering at the edge of his vision—his mana had dropped by nearly a hundred points.
"Not sustainable," he muttered to himself, tearing open a snack to help restore his energy. The status bar in his vision showed his mana slowly beginning to regenerate.
With the spawn island finished, Max focused next on the mainland of Erangel. He began by imagining the overall terrain—the rolling hills, wide-open fields, and dense forests that made the map so tactically diverse.
The process was even more grueling than the spawn island, requiring him to visualize not just specific landmarks but an entire landscape with coherent geography. By evening, he had completed the rough outline of the map—the basic topography existed, but it remained a skeletal framework without details or structures. His mind felt like it was on fire, and his mana had dipped dangerously low.
The system warned him to rest before continuing, and he grudgingly obeyed, disconnecting from the core. He barely managed to stumble to his bed before collapsing into a dreamless sleep, his body working overtime to replenish his depleted energy reserves.
The next morning, Max awoke feeling refreshed, his mana levels having recovered significantly. After a quick breakfast, he immediately reconnected to the game core, eager to continue his work.
He started with Georgopol, one of the major landmarks of Erangel. He visualized the towering blue cranes that dominated the skyline, the massive shipping yard filled with containers of various colors, and the nearby apartment complexes where players would frantically search for weapons in the opening minutes of a match.
Each detail required precise focus—from the rusted look of the cranes to the scattered loot points inside the containers. Max paid special attention to the sightlines between buildings, ensuring the area would provide the perfect balance of risk and reward. By the end of the day, Georgopol stood completed in all its glory, but Max's body once again felt drained, like he had run a marathon.
On the third day, Max turned his attention to the School, another iconic location that always attracted players seeking early combat. He painstakingly designed the building's layout, including the gymnasium with its wooden floors, the classrooms with desks arranged in neat rows, and the accessible rooftop that offered a commanding view of the surrounding area.
He added broken windows, scattered papers, and abandoned backpacks to give it a lived-in, apocalyptic feel—a school evacuated in a hurry during some unnamed catastrophe. Each object required precise visualization, and by the evening, his mana reserves were almost entirely depleted. He fell asleep at his desk, too exhausted even to move to his bed.
On the fourth day, Max tackled Pochinki, a central village notorious for its chaotic early-game firefights. He focused on creating the tightly packed houses with their distinctive red and green roofs, winding streets that provided cover for flanking maneuvers, and occasional environmental elements like hay bales and broken vehicles that could serve as improvised cover.
He meticulously scattered loot in logical locations—rifles in bedrooms, shotguns in bathrooms, sniper rifles in attics—imagining how players would strategize during combat. His mana management had improved with practice, but the constant mental strain left him exhausted by nightfall.
The fifth day saw Max shift to smaller but crucial details—the bridges connecting the island to the mainland, the military base with its high-tier loot, and the network of roads and rivers that crisscrossed the map. These elements were vital for gameplay balance, ensuring players had multiple paths to travel and strategic decisions to make as the safe zone shrunk.
His body protested with every hour spent in the white void, yet he pushed through, driven by his vision and the system's support in managing complex calculations.
On the sixth day, with most of the map complete, Max spent hours polishing and refining. He added thousands of trees, rocks, and grass textures to bring Erangel to life, ensuring every area felt natural rather than artificially constructed. He also fine-tuned the loot spawn rates, carefully balancing the distribution of weapons, ammunition, and healing items to ensure fair gameplay.
The system's support in managing these calculations and details proved invaluable, allowing Max to focus on creativity while it handled the technical implementation.
On the final day, Max reviewed his work with a critical eye, making minor adjustments and fixing inconsistencies. He tested the spawn island's functionality, ensuring players could seamlessly transition from there to the battlefield when a match began. He implemented the shrinking play zone mechanics, the air-drop system, and the vehicle spawns that would give players mobility across the massive map.
By the end of the day, Max executed the final command to compile and optimize his creation.
"Compilation complete," the system announced. "Erangel is now fully operational within the parameters of the F-rank game core."
Max slumped back in his chair, utterly drained but filled with immense pride. "It's done," he muttered, a smile playing on his lips despite his exhaustion.
Max's exhausted expression broke into a genuine grin. He had done it—taken the first step toward bringing the games of his memories into this world obsessed with survival and power. In a world where games were merely tools for combat training, he had created something that would remind people of what had been forgotten—the joy of play for its own sake.
