Leo set the laptop in the center of the table and clicked the icon for Plants vs.
Zombies.
James leaned in, offering the default, polite nod of an executive humoring an indie pitch.
Then the title screen burst to life, and that casual courtesy vanished in a heartbeat.
He didn’t speak.
He just stared.
Leo tracked James’s eyes as they scanned the display, watching him look like a jeweler who had been handed a piece of gravel, only to realize he was holding a raw diamond.
The visual fidelity alone was lightyears ahead of Getting Over It or Cat Mario.
Those previous hits were raw, stripped-back, and unapologetically crude by design.
This was different.
This was breathtaking.
Every single plant and zombie overflowed with personality, possessing distinct expressions and expressive animations that popped even at thumbnail scale.
The warm, vibrant palette looked effortless, the kind of polished art direction that usually took an army of concept artists months to dial in.
The user interface was practically invisible, guiding the player’s eyes without a single intrusive pop-up.
James shot a quick, sharp look at Leo, then snapped his focus right back to the display.
A game with this level of visual polish, cooked up by a single developer in less than a week?
The math didn’t make any sense.
But that was a puzzle for another hour.
James pulled the laptop across the wood, rested his fingers on the trackpad, and dove in.
The opening level taught him the core loop without forcing him through a single tedious tutorial text box.
Plant a sunflower.
Harvest the falling light.
Drop down a peashooter.
Watch it pelt a slow, shuffling zombie.
By level two, he was already thinking ahead, plotting out grid defense lines.
By level three, he had completely stopped processing how to play and had shifted entirely into trying to win.
Using sunlight to grow an army of weaponized garden plants against a horde of goofy undead sounded absurd on paper.
In practice, the mechanics were bulletproof.
Every plant filling a specific tactical niche, every new zombie variant forcing a sudden shift in strategy.
The moment you thought you’d cracked the code, the game pulled the rug out from under you and demanded a fresh approach.
James hit a wall on level six.
He stared at the defeat screen for two silent seconds, his brain clearly dissecting the failure.
He reset, reordered his front line, and jumped right back into the fight.
He failed a second time, caught off guard by a new lane hazard.
He tweaked his layout, tried a third time, and finally cleared the wave.
When the victory screen popped up, a visible wave of genuine satisfaction washed over him.
Just one more level.
Just one more.
Sophie had completely abandoned her tablet.
She was leaning over James’s shoulder, her lips parted as she tracked a massive zombie wave marching three rows deep.
Even the lawyer had given up on checking his watch, casually scrolling his phone with the quiet resignation of a man who realized no contracts were getting signed anytime soon.
By the time James finally tore his hands away from the trackpad, a full hour had vanished into thin air.
He sank back into the booth, letting out a long breath like a diver coming up for air.
“Leo,” James said, his voice dropping to a low, quiet murmur.
“How on earth did you build this?” It wasn’t a question meant for an answer.
It was the kind of unfiltered reaction that slips out before you even realize you’ve spoken.
“I’ve been doing this for fifteen years,” James said, his eyes still glued to the screen for a beat before he finally looked up.
“I’ve sat through hundreds of pitches.
Demos where some dev talks at me for forty minutes, and the actual game doesn’t say a word.” He tapped the edge of the laptop casing with a single knuckle.
“This thing talked for an hour straight, and I didn’t even notice the time passing.
I just played.
I completely forgot I was sitting in a restaurant.” He shook his head, a mix of disbelief and awe written across his face.
“Getting Over It and Cat Mario were brilliant in their own right.
They proved there’s a hungry market out there for pure, unadulterated frustration.
But this?
This isn’t a niche.
This is everybody.
My twelve-year-old kid would obsess over this.
My mother would play this on her tablet for hours.
And neither of them would rage-quit, because the progression is just so…” He paused, fishing for the right word.
“…honest.
It gets brutal, sure, but it never feels like it’s cheating you.” Leo sat perfectly still throughout the praise, his hands resting easily on the table.
He didn’t fidget, and didn’t break eye contact.
When James finally finished, Leo gave a quiet, measured nod.
“I really appreciate that, James.
Truly.
But the core ideas aren’t revolutionary.
I just stumbled onto a rhythm that clicks and ran with it.
Plenty of folks in this industry have spent decades solving way harder game design problems than where to plant a sunflower.” James burst into a short laugh.
“That has got to be the single most modest thing anyone’s ever said about a masterpiece.
But fine, we can agree to disagree.” He sat up straighter, shifting gears as the polished executive came back online.
“Let’s talk business.
I want to roll out the exact same terms we locked in for your first two titles.
Ten percent platform cut, full promotional backing, and front-page featuring the second it drops.
Considering you’re running this as an independent dev without a formal studio entity yet, that’s the absolute best package I can push through.” “Deal,” Leo said smoothly.
“And thanks for not trying to shoehorn the Director pitch back into the mix while my guard was down.” James chuckled, shaking his head.
“Hey, I know when to back off.
For today, at least.” They raised their glasses to seal the agreement.
The remaining food on the table finally got some attention, the room’s energy settling into something genuine.
Sophie clicked her tablet shut, and the lawyer slipped his phone into his breast pocket, officially rejoining humanity.
By the time they reached the restaurant’s front doors, James turned and offered one last firm handshake.
“Dinner soon,” James said, offering a genuine smile.
“My treat, and absolutely no business talk.
Just talking games.” “Sounds good to me,” Leo said, nodding.
“Looking forward to it.” They parted ways in the lobby.
James and his crew headed toward the valet parking garage.
Leo turned right toward the subway, hands in his jacket pockets.
He made it about three blocks before level six crept back in.
The third zombie wave, specifically.
He’d placed his peashooters in a straight column, but if he’d staggered them across the middle two lanes and doubled the sunflower row behind them, the firing coverage would’ve overlapped just enough to catch the flanking zombies before they reached the wall-nuts.
He stopped on the sidewalk, pulled out his phone, and started typing into a blank note before the thought cooled off.