"A big office, huh?" James mused. "We're already in one of the nicer floors in Cubao."
Yuri shook her head. "No. I mean big. Multiple floors. Dedicated divisions. A proper testing lab. A motion capture room. Soundproof booths for audio recording. Not cramped desks and bean bags anymore."
He raised a brow. "You are planning to turn us into a full-fledge gaming studio huh."
Yuri replied with a smirk. "But seriously, we have the cash. And the momentum. If we wait too long, we'll break ourselves trying to keep pace with demand. We need to build now—before the cracks start showing."
James tapped the folder again. "Walk me through it. The full vision."
Yuri leaned forward, flipping open the pages she had bookmarked.
"First—Department Restructuring. We split the core functions. Game Development gets subdivided into Design, Engineering, and QA. Marketing becomes its own thing. We spin out Creative into Art, Animation, and Narrative. Then we establish new units: Legal, HR, and Business Strategy."
"Legal I understand," James said, scratching his chin. "After the Titan Forge fiasco, I can see us needing our own lawyers on retainer. But HR… really?"
"Not the suit-wearing kind," Yuri replied. "We need someone handling internal conflicts, onboarding, talent acquisition, and culture. We've got artists applying from France, coders from India, interns emailing from Brazil. We can't manage all that through your Gmail inbox."
James winced. "Guilty."
Yuri smiled knowingly and continued. "Second—Leadership Delegation. You're still CEO, but we need a COO to manage internal operations, especially as we expand overseas. I can help fill that role for now, but long-term, we recruit a veteran."
"Overseas?" James repeated.
"We've got a publisher in Japan interested in licensing Furious Birds Kart. And SoftBank's been poking around quietly through shell contacts. If we want to build regional teams, we start now."
James felt the gears turning in his head. It was fast—almost too fast. But it made sense. He couldn't be everywhere anymore. They had too many users, too many expectations.
"And the last phase?" he asked.
Yuri turned to the final page, labeled "Stage Three: Ecosystem Integration."
"This is where we become a platform," she said. "Right now, we're just a studio. But if we centralize accounts, rewards, and user data—Furious ID—we turn each game into a gateway. That keeps people inside the ecosystem."
"Cross-save, cross-progress, shared currencies?" James asked.
"Exactly. One wallet, one login, one world. Imagine unlocking a bird skin in Tactics and having it show up in Kart automatically. Imagine an animated short unlocking after finishing a campaign."
James sat there, nodding slowly. "You're not pitching a studio plan. You're pitching a tech company."
Yuri met his gaze evenly. "Because we're becoming one. Whether we like it or not."
There was silence again. Then James chuckled. "God, we sound like we're about to start selling servers."
"If we do," Yuri said, "we name them after birds. I want one called 'CluckNet.'"
They both laughed.
Then James stood up, walked to the window. Somewhere out there, millions of people were playing their games, tapping their screens, living in a world they created.
He turned back to her.
"Alright. I approve the plan."
Yuri's eyebrows raised. "All of it?"
"All of it," he confirmed. "But with one condition."
She leaned in. "Name it."
"We don't forget who we are. No matter how big we get, we remember why we made Furious Birds. We don't chase money. We chase good games. And with good games, money will follow. Just like what we did to Furious Birds."
Yuri stood as well, extending a hand. "Deal."
They shook on it—firm, steady, without a shred of hesitation.
"Now, let's get to work."
By the next morning, Yuri's expansion blueprint had spread across the main table in the conference room like a war map.
The core team had gathered—Airi with her sketch tablet and a messy ponytail, Sam with a half-full coffee tumbler and her ever-present laptop, and James standing at the head of the table, arms folded.
Yuri clicked her pen and pointed to the chart.
"This is the timeline," she said. "Twelve weeks to implement Stage One. That includes hiring an HR lead, forming a recruitment pipeline, spinning off Creative into its own unit, and finding candidates for the COO and Studio Manager roles."
Sam let out a long, low whistle. "Twelve weeks? We barely have time to breathe now."
"That's exactly why we need to do it," Yuri said. "If we don't, we'll end up like those studios who fumbled success because they couldn't scale with their own growth."
Airi raised her hand halfheartedly. "Does this mean I finally get a junior artist?"
"Yes," Yuri said without missing a beat. "We're hiring two for Art, one for Animation, and one for UI. You're not dying on that tablet alone anymore."
Airi gave a weak thumbs-up and collapsed into her chair dramatically.
Sam leaned forward. "And the PR and narrative side?"
"You're getting a full narrative team. At least three writers. Plus a dedicated PR officer to handle all media requests, influencer relations, and content partnerships."
Sam blinked. "Wait… I'll actually get to write instead of replying to emails all day?"
Yuri smirked. "Crazy, I know."
James watched his team soak it all in. This wasn't just talk anymore—it was happening. His little ragtag indie crew was turning into a full-scale studio.
He glanced back at Yuri. "What about office space? We can't cram thirty people into this floor."
"I've scouted locations," she replied, flipping a page. "Ortigas has a 4-floor tech hub up for lease. Fully wired. Backup generator. Enough space to last us two years, maybe more. And—bonus—it's got a rooftop cafeteria."
Sam perked up. "Okay, I'm listening."
"It's within budget," Yuri continued. "Barely. But worth every peso."
James nodded slowly. "Set up a viewing. We'll bring the team."
Airi looked around. "So this is real? We're becoming… like, a proper company?"
"We already are," James said. "We're just making it official."