Horror Game Developer: My games aren't that scary! novel Chapter 68

Chapter 68: The perfect piece [3]

If there was one thing I understood after the first scenario with the conductor, it was that seeking perfection was a curse.

Many strived to be perfect.

The desire for perfection was a deep human trait, though the intensity and expression of it varied widely from person to person.

Inherently, such logic was flawed.

Even though people strived for perfection, nothing was ever perfect.

Achieving perfection was almost impossible.

Many understood this simple truth and, as such, gave up when they got close to it.

This is enough.

To me, it’s perfect.

But...

There existed those who didn’t believe in such a notion.

People or beings who let their inability to reach perfection consume their minds and thoughts.

Their reality...

It was filled with nothing but anguish and despair.

With just the singular thought of perfection completely consuming their minds. To the point of madness.

The conductor was one such person.

I stared at the reflection before me. From its sewn eyes and sewn lips. I didn’t understand then, but I understand now.

No voice could tarnish his piece.

No sight could influence his sound.

He sewed his lips and sealed his eyes.

To hear the music all around.

And...

To drown the world outside.

...The madness had reached a point of no return. All the conductor could think about was reaching perfection; his life driven by that one singular thought.

I couldn’t relate to such a thought process.

I wasn’t perfect.

I neither strived to be perfect.

I just wanted to live.

I just...

I blinked my eye slowly.

That was a lie. I could relate a little. I thought back to the game I had recently developed and thought about all the reactions I managed to see on the internet. The screams, the police calls, the... everything.

I started to understand.

...The feeling of wanting to do more.

Better. More perfect.

Blinking yet again, I stared at the conductor’s image before me. He didn’t say anything while he looked at me through the polished surface of the piano.

I was starting to understand better, and unknowingly, my back began to hunch over.

I didn’t really understand why.

Dang—

But as I played the next note, something about it felt different.

It felt crisper.

Sharper.

"....."

My finger twitched. I felt a certain pain settle into my chest. I raised my head to look at the reflection on the piano.

The conductor was there, his baton in the air.

When did...

"Haa..."

A long breath escaped my lips.

The twitch in my finger persisted as I played the next note, its sound expanding further throughout the room as it lingered for a few seconds longer.

That sound...

’It sounds so good.’

I silently swallowed my saliva. My mouth was strangely dry as I looked at the keys before me. I wanted to hear it again.

I wanted to hear the same crisp sound from before.

And so I tried again.

Dang, Dang!

My hands moved on their own. They danced across the keys, pressing down as the notes echoed in the air.

"H-ho."

My chest trembled as the notes drifted in the air. Staring at the reflection before me, the conductor waved his baton.

He was...

Conducting my piece.

Dang!

I began to follow his lead.

...My back hunched further while my hand started to tense.

The more I played the music, the more I started to feel my hands become light. Each note of the melody unfolded with a fragility that made it seem as though the keys were made of thin glass, ready to shatter beneath the slightest pressure.

I started to be afraid.

Afraid of making any mistakes.

The mere thought of pressing too hard made my heart ache.

It made my mind swirl with all sorts of thoughts. Consuming it.

The more I played, the more I understood.

The reason for the conductor’s perfectionism.

It was to...

Feel complete.

Within the emptiness inside the minds of others, perfection was a means to fill the void. It was a means to give purpose. To... give proof of existence.

Because only those who achieved perfection could be written in the history books.

Acknowledged.

...And that was all the conductor really wanted.

He wanted to be acknowledged.

’So let me do that for you.’

Dang!

I once again added pressure to the keys as the notes dragged into the air with even more force and sharpness.

The conductor remained in front of me, his baton waving slightly.

I followed its lead.

Da Dong!

Dong!

’No, this isn’t enough.’

’Ah, I see.’

Dong!

The ones to acknowledge it.

’Just what is he doing?’