The theory was solid.
But Hideo Kojima's face had already gone bright red.
"Director—Oshii—" Hideo Kojima braced himself on the edge of the table, his tongue starting to tie itself in knots. "That part in—Escape from New York—at the end, with Snake—what do you think Carpenter was doing with the shot composition—"
"We'll talk tomorrow." Mamoru Oshii took away the glass in front of him and replaced it with a cup of warm water.
Hideo Kojima planted both hands on the tabletop, his forehead slowly sinking toward the backs of his hands.
Three seconds later, the sound of even breathing came.
Gabriel lifted his head, looked at Hideo Kojima sprawled over the table, then looked at his master.
The long-eared dog had clearly seen this kind of scene plenty of times. He yawned and rested his chin back on his front paws.
"You did that on purpose." Nakayama Takuya pointed at Hideo Kojima, who was already dead asleep.
Mamoru Oshii finished the last piece of wagyu and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
"With that brain of his, if you don't pour enough into him to make it stop spinning, he'll go back tonight and stay up drawing storyboards. Then first thing tomorrow morning, he'll charge into your office with a plan he rushed out overnight. Are you going to take it or not?"
Nakayama Takuya thought about it. That was indeed exactly how it would go.
When Hideo Kojima's drive surged to his head, there was no stopping him.
The last time MGS2 had been rushing the schedule, the man slept in the office for three straight days. In the end, the cleaning lady had poked him awake with the handle of a broom.
"Then how does he get back?" Nakayama Takuya looked at the unconscious game director on