Chapter 59 - #59: Celeste

“My software studio is called Sprout Studio, and it’s been active in the industry for less than a year,” Ethan said softly. He kept the surgical mask securely strapped across his eyes, making no attempt to remove it.

“You should go,” Yor replied immediately. Hearing that his company was a fledgling startup less than a year old instantly extinguished the tiny spark of hope that had just flared in her chest.

She absolutely refused to go from being a financial parasite on her parents to being a corporate parasite on her childhood friend. That wasn’t the kind of salvation she wanted.

“I am completely serious right now. I know you’ve been isolated from the world for a while, but you have your smartphone right there. I want you to look up Sprout Studio right now.”

Yor didn’t reply, but Ethan could clearly hear the faint tapping of a touch screen in the quiet room.

He knew she was pulling up the search engine.

After a long, heavy silence, the girl finally spoke again.

“This… this is you?” Yor asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Even though she had been forced to suspend her university studies right before graduation, and even though she had completely severed all contact with the outside world, she had still heard the legend of Nova.

It was impossible to avoid.

Every single chat group dedicated to Game Engine Architecture and software development was constantly analyzing that developer’s incredible rise.

“Yes. And I want to formally invite you to join my studio so we can build games together,” Ethan said gently.

“As far as I’m concerned, as long as you’re willing to put in the actual work, you’ll earn your place on the team. I’m not offering you any special corporate treatment; I expect you to grind just as hard as the rest of my employees.”

“Obviously, you can choose to work remotely from home,” Ethan added smoothly. “As long as you can hit your sprint deadlines and actively communicate with the team during development cycles, it won’t be an issue.”

Managing remote developers was occasionally tedious, but he was more than willing to make an exception under these extreme circumstances.

The absolute second Ethan finished speaking, he felt the elastic bands of the surgical mask being gently pulled off his ears. The ambient light in the room wasn’t blinding, but it was enough to make him blink.

“I honestly don’t care if you’re just doing this out of pity or sympathy. I desperately want to try,” Yor said.

She turned away from him, walking directly toward the bedroom window and violently pulling the heavy blackout curtains open.

Blinding, golden sunlight instantly flooded into the room from outside.

Yor squeezed her eyes shut against the glare; she hadn’t allowed this much natural light into her room in over six months.

Under the harsh, unyielding sunlight, Ethan could finally see the full, devastating extent of her injuries.

Hideous, twisted burn scars—resembling the thick, rigid scales of a reptile—crept aggressively up from her collarbone, completely covering the majority of her neck, jawline, and right cheek.

All ten of her fingers were heavily scarred and disfigured to varying degrees.

Seeing her standing there, completely exposed, caused a profound, agonizing ache in Ethan’s chest. He quickly averted his gaze, terrified that staring for too long would make her feel exposed or uncomfortable.

“I want to physically go to the office and work alongside the rest of the team. I don’t care if you have to lower my starting salary,” Yor said softly, walking back over to stand directly in front of him.

“I don’t need the expensive surgeries… I just desperately don’t want to be a useless person anymore…”

The most terrifying thing in the world wasn’t death; it was the suffocating realization that you had permanently lost all human value.

Now that Ethan was dangling a lifeline in front of her, she wanted to seize it with both hands.

She was determined to prove her worth to the absolute best of her ability.

Ethan was slightly taken aback by her fierce resolve, but he quickly nodded his head.

“Alright. Pack your things and get ready. I’m driving back to the city in a week, and you’re coming with me to officially join the studio.”

“Spend this week researching our internal corporate structure and familiarizing yourself with our active projects.”

“Okay. I’ll read everything,” Yor nodded.

When Ethan finally looked back at her, she still instinctively turned her scarred cheek away, clearly uncomfortable under his gaze.

But she was forcing herself to endure it. She was trying to overcome the fear.

“Alright. I’ll come back and pick you up in a week,” Ethan said, letting out a long, heavy breath of relief.

It was an incredible blessing that the girl was finally willing to keep living.

As for the expensive skin grafts and specialized reconstructive surgeries?

They had plenty of time to tackle that hurdle later.

Knock! Knock!

Arthur’s heavy knuckles rapped against the bedroom door. “Yor? Ethan? I’ve got lunch ready out here,” Arthur called out, gently reminding Ethan that he had lingered in the room slightly longer than appropriate.

Click.

The absolute second the older man finished speaking, the bedroom door swung completely open.

“Ethan, I’m so sorry, but Yor usually prefers to eat alone. Please don’t take it personally,” Arthur started to say, assuming Ethan had opened the door.

“Dad, it’s me,” Yor said, pulling the door wide. She turned her head slightly to look back at Ethan. “Let’s go eat.”

“Huh?” Arthur froze, completely taken aback.

His eyes immediately darted to the blinding sunlight flooding the bedroom, before landing directly on Ethan standing in the center of the room.

“You…!” Seeing that the mask had been completely removed from Ethan’s face, Arthur felt a massive surge of protective rage violently spike his blood pressure.

He instantly balled his scarred hand into a tight fist.

“Dad, stop! It’s okay! I explicitly asked him to take it off,” Yor quickly grabbed her father’s arm, shaking her head frantically.

There were heavy tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, but for the first time in six months, they were filled with a genuine, radiant smile.

This was exactly why she had been so desperate to cling to life, and exactly why she had been so terrified to keep living.

She wanted to linger in this world because she was terrified that her death would destroy the people who loved her.

Yet she wanted to die because she was terrified of becoming an eternal, agonizing burden to her family.

She was profoundly, endlessly grateful that Ethan was willing to give her a chance to prove her worth—even if this entire offer was born out of sheer pity.

“Yor…?” Arthur stared at his daughter, completely bewildered by the sudden shift in her demeanor.

“Ethan founded a software studio, and it perfectly aligns with my university major. He just formally offered me a job,” Yor explained, her voice trembling slightly.

“But Yor… your condition…”

“Dad, I want to go,” Yor said softly, pulling gently on his arm.

Arthur’s trembling fingers unconsciously drifted up to brush against his daughter’s scarred cheek.

“Mr. Forger, you don’t need to worry about a thing. I will personally protect her. I promise you I won’t let anyone in that city bully her,” Ethan said firmly, stepping up to stand directly behind Yor.

Arthur abruptly turned his back to the two of them, practically sprinting toward the kitchen in three massive strides.

“Just… just sit down at the table. I’ll bring the food out,” Arthur choked out, his voice cracking violently.

“Thank you,” Yor whispered, watching her father’s broad shoulders tremble as he disappeared into the kitchen.

She turned back to look at Ethan.

“We’re best friends,” Ethan smiled warmly, the childhood vow they had made years ago perfectly overlapping with the present.

“…”

“Yeah. We really are best friends,” Yor muttered softly.

She quickly followed her father into the kitchen to help carry the heavy plates to the table.

During lunch, Ethan wasted no time outlining the specific details of a brand-new game project he wanted her to take the lead on as Chief Director.

“The main studio staff is currently pooling all of our energy and resources into our next massive flagship title. Because of that, I need you to lead a small, dedicated strike team to execute an independent project.”

“The title of the game is Celeste,” Ethan explained. “It’s a pure platformer. If you’ve researched my design philosophy, then you already know my games tend to lean slightly toward the difficult side.”

“Even though Celeste is fundamentally a platform jumping game, my core mechanical concept is to build a platformer that explicitly lacks actual platforms.”

Yor listened with absolute, unwavering focus.

However, Ethan’s final sentence made her freeze in confusion.

How exactly were you supposed to jump without any platforms?

In that brief moment of confusion, a terrifying flash of self-doubt dimmed her eyes. The meteoric success of Sprout Studio was obvious to the entire global industry.

She was suddenly terrified that her skills wouldn’t be sharp enough to keep up with Ethan’s visionary pace.

“Don’t worry about it too much right now. I’ll hand over the full design document and the mechanical framework to you later,” Ethan reassured her.

This specific project hadn’t even been on his internal production schedule.

He was simply bumping the timeline up slightly.

Ethan didn’t see any issue with fast-tracking the development.

He sincerely wanted Yor to take the helm and lead a team to successfully launch the game.

Ethan deeply hoped that the grueling, freezing ascent up that digital mountain would provide her with a profound, spiritual salvation.

In the narrative of Celeste, there is a pivotal moment where the protagonist’s dark, cynical reflection asks a terrifying question: What happens if you fail to reach the summit?

In standard video games, the hero would usually puff their chest out and confidently declare: Trust me! I can do this! But Madeline, the protagonist of this story, was entirely different.

Madeline simply looked at her reflection and said: It’s okay. I can accept failure.

It was just a few simple, quiet words, delivered with profound, heartbreaking calmness.

Deep down, Madeline’s heart was still fluttering with severe, suffocating anxiety. Even though she had grown into an adult and learned how to talk tough, she was still just a terrified little girl inside.

Being able to look failure directly in the eye and calmly accept its presence was the truest form of human progress.

At that exact moment, the breathtaking view waiting at the absolute summit of the mountain became completely secondary to the climb itself.

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I’ve been dropping these chapters daily now. I think I’m getting addicted to your stones, but its effect on me is getting weaker now… Maybe I need more stones~