Some of the students behind Ethan were half-convinced he might be from the future.
The program he wrote looked so polished, so well-structured—and it actually ran!
Of course, Ethan wasn't a god. Bugs in programming were just part of the job.
As a seasoned coder, encountering a glitch didn't faze him at all. Calmly, he started checking for the issue.
Within a few minutes, he found the culprit: a conflict between one block of scene code and the jump logic.
A few tweaks later, he rebooted the program.
This time, it ran without a hitch. Ethan played through the entire level without so much as a hiccup.
Perfect.
He smiled, genuinely satisfied with the results.
At this pace, he figured he could finish Squirrel Squad in a month, maybe less.
The timing worked out just right.
Stretching his arms, Ethan let himself relax a little.
He had likely hit a state of flow earlier—that zone where everything else fades and you become one with the task. Clearly, his skills hadn't rusted, even after traveling to this world.
Game development in that mindset felt… effortless.
Of course, it might just be that the game itself was simple. After all, he was using modern game design concepts to build an 80s-era side-scroller—plus he already knew what success looked like. No detours. No guesswork. Just follow the blueprint.
With everything set, Ethan pulled out the floppy disk he'd brought with him—one he'd "borrowed" from a teacher.
Floppy disks didn't come cheap—over ten quid each—and you sometimes needed foreign currency coupons to get one. Snagging one under the radar was a small victory in itself.
He inserted the disk into the drive and began saving the project data for future work.
It was then, finally coming out of the zone, that he noticed the sensation prickling at the back of his neck—like someone had been staring at him for quite a while.
He turned—and saw an entire group of students watching him intently.
"What… are you all doing?" Ethan asked, confused.
"Uh… hey, mate. You seem really good at programming."
"Hmm? Oh, I dabble," Ethan replied casually.
"Dabble? You're being modest! Surely you're a CompSci student from Oxford or Cambridge, here on a student exchange?"
Ethan blinked. "Nothing like that. I'm just a regular student here. And I'm not even studying computer science."
"What? You're not in our department? Then where'd you learn all that programming?"
"Oh, that?" Ethan said, shifting gears fast. "I've been corresponding with a Japanese friend. He's really good at programming and visited the UK last year. I helped him learn English, and he taught me to code in exchange."
A bold lie—but a useful one.
Ethan realized he might've impressed these students a little too much with his demo. Better to keep things grounded, not arouse unnecessary attention.
This wasn't a time where people could easily verify things. The internet wasn't around, and information flowed slowly. He could say nearly anything and it'd be hard to disprove.
"Oh, that explains it then," one student nodded. "Well, of course he's good if he learned from someone abroad."
Everyone relaxed.
It was no secret that computer tech overseas was far more advanced. They'd started earlier, had better systems, and more expertise.
Some of the students even looked a little envious.
Having someone personally teach you was a rare opportunity.
Even the upperclassman watching looked impressed.
"If you don't mind me asking—what's your name? We'd love to exchange ideas more often. We're all computer science majors."
"Sure," Ethan nodded. "I'd be happy to collaborate."
He had already planned on building relationships with the CompSci crowd. Even the janitor guarding the lab was on his networking list.
These students could be a big help down the line. Might as well plant the seeds now.
The upperclassman lit up at Ethan's reply.
Exchanging knowledge with Ethan meant, in a way, having indirect contact with international-level programming. Their lecturers constantly encouraged them to make the most of such opportunities. It could benefit their own development—and maybe even the country someday.
Then the upperclassman glanced back at Ethan's computer. "Er… if you don't mind me asking, what was that program you were working on?"
"Oh, that?" Ethan began, pausing briefly. "Just a little demo. A test to see if I could get the framework running. Now that it's—wait, actually…"
He stopped mid-sentence.
He'd been about to say it was done and pack up, but then he noticed the way they were all craning their necks—desperate to get a closer look.
He changed his tune.
"Now that I think about it, it's not fully tested yet. There's still a lot of functionality to stress test. Would any of you be interested in helping?"
"Help? With what exactly?" the upperclassman asked.
"Let me show you."
Ethan sat back down and opened the project again.
"This brown block here—that's the 'squirrel' character. Arrow keys move it left and right. Spacebar is for jumping. All I need is someone to run around the level a bit. See if you can find anything that breaks."
One of the students responded instantly, "Yeah, sure, happy to help! Though… what's the point?"
"Didn't the lecturer say it already?" another student chimed in. "After writing a program, you need to test it thoroughly. The more you test, the more likely you'll catch bugs. Ethan here's just asking for help debugging."
Ethan nodded. "Exactly. I'd really appreciate it. Just let me know if anything breaks."
"Absolutely!" the upperclassman agreed.
He'd been curious about the strange scene on the screen for a while now. He had no idea what it was supposed to do—but it looked fun.
Even if he didn't fully understand it, he wanted to try it out.
Wait… did he just say it looked fun?
Was he… playing?
"Yes, please do. I've got other things to handle, so I'll leave this with you. I'll be back tomorrow. If you find any issues, just jot them down for me. I'd really appreciate it."
"No problem at all!" the students replied in unison.
They didn't see it as a chore—in fact, this "testing" seemed like the most interesting thing they'd done in weeks.
Compared to writing programs, debugging someone else's mystery code was kind of thrilling.
Especially when that code looked… entertaining.
Wait. Entertaining? A program?
Was this… a game?
Ethan kept his expression neutral.
It was clear they were genuinely curious and eager to poke around. That worked perfectly.
He promised to answer any questions they might have in the future—his way of paying them back for their help.
With that, Ethan left the lab behind, leaving the CompSci students to "test" the first level of Squirrel Squad to their heart's content.
"Looks like… some kind of map?" one student mused.
"Yeah, and it moves! I wonder what the point of this program is. Maybe it's some kind of military simulation?"
"Doesn't really feel like it… it just seems really fun."
"Fun? It's a program. Programs are supposed to be useful, not fun."
"Well, that was my first impression too… but I couldn't stop watching it. Guess it's not just me."
"Same here. This is the first time I've ever called a program 'fun.'"
"All right, all right—enough chatter. Let's test it properly. Let's not disappoint Ethan."
…
The students eagerly began exploring the level Ethan had built.
Meanwhile, Ethan was already thinking about what came next.
He couldn't go it alone forever. Sooner or later, he'd need a proper team.
Thankfully, he had one advantage: the built-in system granted to him by the transmigration gods. While mostly dormant, it did include a "Talent Map" that could help locate promising individuals.
That would be his shortcut to forming a dream dev team.
There were differences in this version of the UK, too. Many names he recognized from his original world didn't quite match, and those who did exist didn't always follow the same paths.
He couldn't rely on memory alone to find future legends.
Back in his dorm, Ethan opened the door just in time to hear a chaotic, tuneless melody.
The room was cramped—an eight-person dorm with four bunk beds squeezed into a space barely big enough for them. A single iron-legged table sat in the center, stacked with cups and bowls.
Only one student was there now, sitting near the window, awkwardly strumming an old guitar.
"My fair Britannia… my beloved Britannia…"
The lad's voice was wildly off-key, and his guitar playing sounded like someone hammering nails into a chalkboard. It was as if the singer and the guitarist were two different people, each in their own world.
"Oi—Damien, just you in here?" Ethan called out with a wave, already used to his roommate's assault on music.
"Yeah, the others—wait, Ethan! You're back!" Damien looked up, beaming
POWERSTONES PLZ