Aoyama smoothed his shirt and adjusted his collar, finishing the final physical component of his corporate-mandated health screening.
"Is that everything for the physical side?" he asked, turning toward Ayumi Ito, who had been waiting patiently in the corridor.
He'd taken a rare day off from his responsibilities at LightSpeed Interactive for this. The development of Cyberpunk 2077 was progressing at a breakneck pace, but that progress was almost entirely dependent on Aoyama's oversight. Even though he only dedicated about two hours a day to the project (alternating between on-site visits and remote consultation from his studio) his presence was the glue holding the entire engine together.
In just over a month, the core logic of the Red Engine 4 was nearly complete, and the asset pipeline was flowing faster than Ryo Shien had ever dreamed possible. It was all thanks to the System's Master-level skill: [The Game Creator].
The impact of his absence was palpable. Back at the LightSpeed offices, Watanabe Keisuke and the rest of the lead developers were currently looking as though they were attending a funeral. They were terrified of a single day without their "Sensei" to guide them through the labyrinth of code.
But as much as they needed him, they couldn't exactly chain him to his desk.
"Almost, Sensei. We just have the psychiatric evaluation left," Ayumi said quickly.
This was the core of the checkup, the part Hiroshi Oumi was most concerned about. The company had ordered a full CT scan of his brain, as if looking for a physical tumor that could explain his sudden "ascent" into madness.
"Oh, right. Let's get it over with then."
Aoyama didn't seem to mind in the slightest. He followed Ayumi to the psychiatric wing of the Metropolitan First People's Hospital.
The lead psychiatrist, a Dr. Ogawa, was already waiting for them. Beside him stood two young interns, their tablets ready to record every word from the world's most eccentric mangaka.
"Hello, Mr. Hayashi Aoyama. I am Dr. Ogawa. I'll be handling your final evaluation today," the doctor said with a practiced, benevolent smile.
"Uh, hi."
Aoyama scratched his head and sat down in the chair opposite the doctor's desk.
Dr. Ogawa flipped through the thin file on his desk. Since Aoyama had no previous medical history at this hospital, they had no baseline for his mental state or family history. They were starting from zero.
"So, Mr. Hayashi, how have your moods been lately? Any sudden spikes in anxiety or depression?"
"My mood? I feel great! I'm eating like a king, and I'm having these massive, glorious bowel movements every morning... I actually took photos of some of the really impressive ones. Do you want to see?"
Aoyama's eyes lit up with a genuine, child-like enthusiasm as he reached for his smartphone.
The two interns behind Dr. Ogawa turned a sickly shade of gray, their expressions shifting from academic interest to profound disgust.
"Heh... no, that's quite alright," Dr. Ogawa said, his smile twitching slightly. He'd seen a lot in his years as a psychiatrist in The Metropolis, but this was a new one.
"Oh... that's a shame. Honestly, some of them were really aesthetically pleasing..."
Aoyama retracted his phone with a look of genuine disappointment.
Ayumi Ito, standing by the door, felt a familiar migraine beginning to brew. 'Aoyama-sensei... please. This is exactly why we're here.' In a world where "normal" was defined by conformity, Aoyama was currently a walking, talking outlier.
"Let's move on from that for a moment," Dr. Ogawa said, his voice straining to remain professional.
He leaned forward, his gaze intensifying. "Tell me about your current work. Are you finding it fulfilling? Any significant pressures or obstacles that are bothering you?"
"My work? Well, my main job is being a mangaka. My side-hustle is making games. And I also have a part-time gig as a pet."
"A pet?"
The room went silent.
Dr. Ogawa studied Aoyama's face. The young man was undeniably handsome with clear skin, sharp features, and an aura of effortless charisma. In a city as hyper-competitive and status-driven as The Metropolis, "luxury pets" were a known, if unspoken, reality.
He'd seen it before: young, beautiful people trading their youth and bodies for a shortcut to the high life. It was a high-pressure, soul-destroying existence that often led to severe psychological trauma.
The doctor's pity for the young man rose. 'So that's it. The pressure of being someone's plaything has finally shattered his mind.'
"I see..." Dr. Ogawa said softly, his tone becoming overly sympathetic. "And does your... employer... put a lot of pressure on you? Do they make you do things that make you feel... uncomfortable?"
"Not at all," Aoyama said, shaking his head. "I think the work is great. It's very rewarding."
"I see. But surely, being a 'pet'... that must carry a significant burden on your self-esteem? Do you never feel any stress about the nature of the role?"
"Why would there be pressure? Being a pet is the best life there is, isn't it?"
Aoyama looked genuinely confused by the question.
Dr. Ogawa hesitated. This was even worse than he'd thought. Aoyama hadn't just been broken by the role; he'd completely internalized it. He was no longer a victim; he was a willing participant who found joy in his own degradation. Was he dealing with a severe masochistic personality disorder?
"And do you feel... happy... in this role?"
"Yeah! It's great fun," Aoyama said with a wide, toothy grin.
"And when you say you're a 'pet'... how do you perceive yourself in that context? Do you see yourself as a dog? A cat? Something else?"
"I'm a puppy! Woof woof woof!"
Aoyama actually let out a series of convincing barks right there in the office. "Hello! I'm a three-year-old puppy named Noel Nochange!"
Dr. Ogawa scribbled a frantic note in the file. 'Diagnosis: Severe Identity Dissociation and Cognitive Impairment.'
"Alright. One last question for you, Mr. Hayashi."
The doctor maintained his polite smile, but his eyes were now those of a man observing a fascinating specimen. "If I were to place a large, juicy bone and a thousand-yen bill on the table in front of you... which one would you choose?"
"The thousand yen, obviously!"
Aoyama rolled his eyes at the doctor. "Do you think I'm stupid or something?"
Dr. Ogawa paused, a look of moderate relief crossing his face. 'Okay, so there's still a shred of human logic left. He hasn't completely devolved.'
But then, Aoyama leaned forward and held out his hand.
"Well? Where is it?"
"Where is what?" Dr. Ogawa blinked in confusion.
"The thousand yen! You said you were putting it on the table! I choose the money!"
Aoyama spoke with a blunt, demanding sincerity. "You probably don't have a giant bone in your desk, but you definitely have a thousand yen in your wallet. I made my choice. Pay up!"
The doctor's face froze, his mind struggling to process the sheer audacity of the demand.
He looked at the interns, then back at Aoyama. For a moment, he genuinely considered opening his wallet just to make the situation stop.
'His condition isn't 'mild' at all,' Dr. Ogawa thought, his pen trembling over the "Hospitalization Recommended" box. 'This man needs a padded room and a very long course of sedatives.'
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]