Wang Bin sneaked a glance at Elder Li and Mo Xiangwen, sighing inwardly. What a shame.
Earning praise from Elder Li proved that this junior classmate had some real skill. He wasn’t one of those frauds just here to scam the startup subsidies.
Among all the students applying to develop games, this was the closest to success that Wang Bin had seen.
Mo Xiangwen, the one directly involved, was lost in thought and didn’t notice his expression.
Could he drastically shorten the production cycle? Yes, of course he could.
It was a simple issue: it would require more money.
By throwing money at it to hire extra hands, the problem could be solved.
But skilled programmers, artists, and planners were in short supply on the market right now, and their salaries weren’t cheap by any means.
…He might find one or two bargain-bin scapegoat writers or planners, but given their skill levels, he might as well handle it himself.
It would also spare him the hassle of constantly keeping an eye on them to stop them from going off the rails and injecting their own personal ideas into the game’s content.
Besides, although his game planning document described a multi-person studio, his actual plan had been to handle the bulk of the work solo, outsourcing only the parts he couldn’t manage.
That was why he’d padded the estimated timeline a bit when drafting the document.
Otherwise, creating a Galgame-style game—even one loaded with dating sim elements—wouldn’t take three full years.
Fine, he wouldn’t deny that part of it was laziness, a chance to slack off until graduation. But that wasn’t the main reason.
With Su Mengyao and Su Mengli pitching in to help and keep things on track, he could definitely shave significant time off the schedule.
Still, there was no way to show concrete results within a year and a half.
He couldn’t crank himself into full Overload Mode every day like he had in his senior year of high school. That wrecked the body.
There was another problem too. Everyone knew games could get delayed even after presales were announced. What made him so sure nothing would go wrong right before launch?
So, he truly had no way to promise Elder Li a shortened production cycle.
…Unless he switched projects.
Switched to one that could rake in more money short-term, with lower development difficulty and an even shorter timeline.
Mo Xiangwen glanced at the other game planning document in his file bag and frowned. Making a game like that still weighed on his conscience a bit.
Even if he didn’t do it, titles in that genre were about to flood the market anyway.
Su Mengli shot him a quick glance before quietly poking Su Mengyao’s hand.
He had just started to rise from his seat when Su Mengyao beat him to it, practically bounding forward to hand the file to Elder Li.
Elder Li gave the somewhat familiar girl a puzzled look before taking the document.
More than the e-commerce direction of the project itself, his attention snagged on her name.
Su Mengyao… No wonder.
A faint smile tugged at Elder Li’s lips. He shook his head and began studying the application and proposal in earnest.
Su Mengyao’s fine brows furrowed slightly as she watched him. What was so funny? Was their application and planning document that ridiculous?
It shouldn’t be. After all, she and her sister had put it together.
Even if Su Mengyao herself wasn’t the most reliable, her sister certainly was.
This time, Elder Li read through it quickly. But from his tightly knit brows, it didn’t seem promising.
He chose his words carefully before asking, “Are you friends with that classmate Mo from earlier?”
Su Mengyao nearly denied it on reflex, but then she thought better of it. They’d come in together, after all. Denying it now would be pointless, so she might as well own up to it boldly.
“Yes, we are.”
Elder Li wasn’t surprised at all. It was obvious enough.
“Then you should find time to learn from him.”
Elder Li’s brows remained furrowed, as if weighing how to phrase things just right—enough to discourage them without crushing their spirits entirely.
“Although this proposal is already quite detailed, the ideas and approach are still… a bit immature.”
Fortunately, Su Mengyao had a thick skin and wasn’t too bothered. She cut straight to the point. “What do you mean by that, Teacher Li?”
Elder Li paused for a moment before replying slowly, “The e-commerce and micro-business markets are already pretty saturated. Plenty of students at our school are doing it too… Without a standout plan, it’s hard to get impressive results.”
He glanced at Mo Xiangwen and sighed inwardly.
He knew the girls’ father, after all, and had some idea of what the Su Family was involved in.
The moment he’d laid eyes on their startup project, he’d figured it out.
Did they really want to do e-commerce? Hardly.
“It’s a high-risk venture. I’m not optimistic about it.”
Su Mengyao didn’t feel too deflated—she hadn’t contributed much to the planning document anyway. But Su Mengli, as the original author, pursed her lips in quiet displeasure, saying nothing.
Most people would have given up at that point, but Elder Li had clearly underestimated Su Mengyao’s stubbornness.
Her tone remained polite, but she refused to back down. “So, does that mean our project won’t pass review?”
“No. Even if I’m not optimistic, I don’t have any real grounds to reject it.”
Elder Li pondered for a moment and shook his head. “If you’re set on it, I’ll approve it for you.”
“That said, projects like this tend to draw scrutiny from school leadership. If you don’t show results after a while, it could get tricky.”
Su Mengyao’s little face fell, and she turned back uncertainly to glance at her sister and Mo Xiangwen.
Su Mengli thought it over for a bit but couldn’t make up her mind, so she looked to him as well.
Caught off guard by their gazes—never expecting them to seek his opinion—Mo Xiangwen froze for a second. Then he shook his head at Su Mengli.
Su Mengli blinked. She thought it was worth a shot; they could deal with any inspections when they came.
But if Mo Xiangwen wasn’t on board, then forget it.
Worst case, she could convince him to rent a place and set up a studio outside. Or if not, the Su Family had spare rooms.
With that, she shook her head at her sister too.
Su Mengyao, seeing their signals, pouted in reluctance but trudged back to her sister’s side with a dejected expression.
Just as Su Mengli noticed Mo Xiangwen standing and started to rise herself—intending to leave with them—she was surprised to see him pull another new document from his file bag and hand it to Elder Li.
“Teacher Li, I have another planning document here. Could you take a look?”
Another one?
Su Mengli and Su Mengyao stared at him in shock. They hadn’t realized he’d prepared two project proposals.
Even Elder Li paused in surprise before nodding and accepting it. He was a little eager to see what else this young man—who had already surprised him once—might have up his sleeve.
But as soon as Elder Li took hold of it, he noticed this proposal was far slimmer than the previous one.
Why save it for last instead of leading with it?
From a psychological standpoint, showing a simpler one first would lower expectations, making the more detailed one shine brighter by comparison and boosting approval odds.
Reversing the order only made things harder.
His doubts vanished the moment he spotted mentions of “social features” and “slightly aggressive wording.”
“…Excellent. A very good proposal.” Elder Li’s eyes lit up, and the words slipped out unbidden.
