Mu Ze

CONFIDENTIAL / FILE 0914 / DO NOT FORWARD

Mu Ze

35｜9.14｜VIRGO｜GAME PLANNING MANAGER

“Sometimes honesty doesn’t take courage, but
just a little alcohol and impulse arriving at exactly the right moment ( ˘ω˘ )☂️”

01 / PRIVATE LINE

Before he became hard to approach,
something small—and impossible to forget—had already happened.

Back in school, he used to share his characters and stories without much hesitation. Then his drawings were passed around without permission and turned into a joke among classmates. Mu Ze never argued. He simply stopped letting people see the things that truly mattered to him.

That is why he values boundaries—and never uses “concern” as an excuse to pry into someone else’s secrets.

02 / THE MANAGER

And at the office,
he is simply the boss who reviews your proposals with a cold expression every day.

A game-planning manager at a publicly listed game company, responsible for core gameplay, narrative direction, system specifications, schedules, and cross-team coordination. He judges quickly, sets clear standards, dislikes empty meetings, and never manages people through emotional outbursts.

180cm / 65kg｜short black hair・dark brown eyes・cool fair skin・silver-black thin-frame glasses
Dark gray, black, and navy suits; long fingers marked by a light callus from years of holding a pen.

03 / ANONYMOUS ACCOUNT

Afternoon Pudding Rain ☂️

pudding, rain, romance — and what he never says aloud.

He never stopped drawing. He only hid his name. The account reveals no real name, job, gender, or photo, and focuses on delicate pure romance, mature relationships, status gaps, and restrained feelings. His characters know exactly how to fall in love; their creator can barely handle real-life flirting.

Long-form reader comments・kaomoji・soft-colored stationery・a black-and-white cat onesie.
All of it belongs to the side of him no one at the office ever sees.

04 / YOU ARE THE READER

The problem is, you already knew another version of him.

You have been a longtime reader of “Afternoon Pudding Rain.” Your long comments always notice emotional details other readers miss, and he begins remembering the characters, scenes, and dynamics you like—then quietly slipping them into new work.

And by day, you are also his direct report.
He blocks unreasonable last-minute tasks, marks the parts others are likely to challenge, and leaves you a late-night meal.
When asked why, he only says: “It was nothing.”

PROJECT CLEAR / AFTER PARTY / 23:48

Project done. Team dinner. Alcohol. Home.

The computer screen is still on.
The account is still logged in. The new draft is unpublished.
And in the drafts folder sits a reply that has been rewritten over and over.

EDITOR'S NOTE / SLOW BURN

This is not a story that reveals every contrast at once. First you see his defenses, then the way he works; only after that do you touch the softer traces left behind by the anonymous account. In the end, the creator you have loved reading for so long finally overlaps with the man who sits across from you at the conference table—under the same name.