Sender: KIM573
Subject: To the Story Department – Read this if you don’t want to ruin the game any further.
The visuals, the graphics, the optimization—this game is nearly flawless. Everything about it borders on perfection.
Except for one thing: the story. The very thing your department is responsible for.
Honestly, with how well-made the rest of the game is, even a half-decent story would’ve been enough to make it a hit. But instead, you’ve managed to completely disregard narrative coherence—as you’ve done, quite ironically, with remarkable consistency.
Let’s ignore, for a moment, the fact that all the main characters have been gender-swapped. Sure, that can be chalked up to creative liberty. But what I can’t overlook is how shockingly dumb most of the characters are.
In a mystery game, the thrill comes from unraveling clever tricks. So why are all the characters—besides the protagonist—acting like complete fools? Are you trying to make the protagonist look smart by dragging everyone else down?
And let’s not even start on how the story plays out like a lazy copy-paste of the Sherlock Holmes series.
A supernatural twist on late 19th-century London, with detectives chasing down bizarre cases in a dark, urban fantasy world… Such a great setup! Yet somehow, you’ve managed to fumble even that.
There’s a wealth of inspiration to draw from, but you stubbornly cling to the same Sherlock clichés.
And if the story’s timeline is meant to span from the late 19th to early 20th century, how do the detectives not know about fingerprints? That’s not historical accuracy—it’s just sloppy research.
For the record, the London police adopted fingerprinting in 1901. Even in Doyle’s original works, the concept appears—just not from Holmes, but from a constable.
So how is it that professional detectives in your game world remain ignorant of basic forensic methods?
But let’s move on to the biggest issue—the cherry on top of this narrative disaster: Professor Jane Moriarty.
Using a character as iconic as Moriarty in such a cheap, one-off way at the end of the story is a crime in itself. You want to be historically accurate in that one area, and only that one?
As a story consultant, I can’t overlook this abomination. My recommendation is simple: start from scratch. Redo everything until the inconsistencies are fixed. Only then can I approve this game’s release.
Until that day comes—I’ll do everything in my power to stop it.
Have a nice day.
—
To summarize the 2,500+ characters of fury I fired off to the story department of our company a few days ago, that was the gist of it.
After a few phone calls, I was eventually summoned to the company for a meeting.
I passed out mid-rant in front of a room full of people who clearly didn’t understand a word I was saying.
When I came to, I deeply regretted ever sending that letter.
“Alright, class dismissed.”
That’s what I heard next—from her.
The final boss of the very game we were developing. The culmination of a narrative mess. Yet despite all the chaos, Jane Moriarty had undeniable impact.
“Don’t forget to visit my office.”
Somehow, I found myself face-to-face with *her*—the woman I had so boldly said would fall to her death at the Reichenbach Falls.
I even referenced some of her “future” accomplishments that hadn’t happened yet.
This had to be some kind of possession, right? Like one of those classic isekai tropes?
I sat in stunned silence as the class emptied out, trying to process what had happened.
‘Dammit, I *knew* something was off about that company.’
I’d never met the dev team. Not the CEO, not anyone. As a freelance story consultant, I worked entirely from home.
This was my first time visiting in person. The looks on their faces during the meeting… something just wasn’t right.
I should’ve been more careful. Lured in by a generous salary and a stable gig, I jumped in without thinking—and now I was *here*.
‘…I have to get out of here.’
I had already confirmed I wasn’t dreaming. I’d pinched my cheek a dozen times by now.
It was clear—I’d been transported into the detective game we’d been developing.
Not in Moriarty’s prime, but during her early years—when she was still a professor at the academy.
If I wanted to survive, I needed to act fast.
Sure, I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, but that wouldn’t save me.
I’d caught the attention of the game’s final boss.
Running away from the academy, from the main storyline, was tempting. But considering who I was dealing with, that probably wasn’t even possible.
In a few months—maybe even weeks—I’d probably end up as one of her prized “specimens,” neatly displayed at her home.
So, with tears in my eyes and dread in my heart, I headed toward Professor Moriarty’s office.
“If you keep your wits about you, you can survive—even in a tiger’s den,” I whispered to myself.
‘Maybe… just maybe… this won’t be as bad as I think.’
After all, this version of Moriarty wasn’t the full-blown crime lord yet. Just a young professor at a prestigious school.
Maybe she still had a heart. Maybe, within these academy walls, she wouldn’t dare lay a finger on me.
“…Hmm.”
As I approached the office, my nerves spiked.
I knew the characters in this game well. But Jane Moriarty—who only appeared at the *very end* of the game—was still largely a mystery.
I had no idea what to expect.
“…Whew.”
—Knock, knock, knock.
I hesitated. Then, gathering my courage, I knocked.
“Come in.”
Her voice echoed from inside.
I stepped in…
“…Huh.”
Before I could even process the room—
—Drip. Drip.
There, on the sofa across from her, was the academy’s dean.
Dead. A bloody hole in his head.
‘That guy was a mid-level boss…’
I froze. Then instinctively began backing toward the door.
“Ah, it’s you.”
Her soft voice stopped me in my tracks. With a smile on her face, she flicked her finger.
*Clang.*
The door slammed shut and locked behind me.
“I thought you were smart. Did I misjudge you?”
She wiped blood off her face with a towel, still smiling.
“It’s not a great habit, you know… fidgeting with the mana accumulator hidden in your pocket.”
She was right.
I’d prepared it just in case—some kind of self-defense mechanism left by the body’s original owner.
“If you’re not careful, the mana could backfire. You know that, don’t you?”
Just like Holmes once felt threatened by Moriarty, I now stood in her presence, caught red-handed with a possible weapon.
She gestured to her desk.
*Click.*
Swallowing hard, I placed the mana accumulator on the desk where she pointed.
“You’re ready to die with dignity. Admirable.”
My fingers remained on the device, just in case.
‘This isn’t good.’
It was a standoff. A bluff. I was barely holding her at bay with the threat of self-destruction.
Blood still pooled from the dead dean behind me.
Why had she let me in at a time like this?
It felt like a test. But a test of what?
‘Calm down. Just stay calm.’
I was terrified. My stomach turned. I had no idea how to even use the mana accumulator.
But I had to keep it together. If I showed any weakness, I’d be dead.
“What do you want?”
I finally asked.
She smiled.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“You escaped my grasp once. And instead of reporting me, you came here.”
Her gaze flicked to the mana accumulator.
“And now you’re threatening me?”
The room fell silent again.
“I’m dying to know… What does someone like *you* want from *me*?”
Her head tilted slowly. Her eyes gleamed with curiosity.
“Won’t you answer?”
My brain scrambled for a response.
What could I say to make her let me live?
What would make me… useful?
“What’s the matter, student?”
Out of time.
I opened my mouth and said the first thing that came to mind:
“I want to be your graduate student.”
I squeezed my eyes shut in shame.
“Specifically… under your guidance.”
I had tossed aside my pride. Anything to stay alive.
“What do you think?”
I prayed that this young version of Moriarty still cared about being a teacher.
*Ding!*
**[Villain Maker]**
*Condition fulfilled: Professor Moriarty has taken interest in you.*
**Progress: 1%**
“…What?”
Now what the hell was this?
