Chapter 5: Game Testing

Chapter 5 - 5: Game TestingRichard stretched his hands and leaned back in his chair, groaning. "Ugh... I can't keep this up for long. My fingers feel like they're about to fall off."

Jack smirked. "You bet. After all that clicking and typing, you were like a damn machine. And your game logic—seriously, dude, it's too clean. I don't think I've ever seen anything that optimized before."

Richard grinned, but in his mind, he was already analyzing. "It's thanks to the procedural physics from Vector Core." He turned to Jack. "Either way, why don't we test the game's physics? See how well it holds up in real-time?"

Jack cracked his knuckles. "Hell yeah. Let's do it."

Richard launched the game. A gray, untextured terrain loaded in. The camera was set in first-person view, holding a low-poly Gewehr 43 rifle—a standard World War II semi-automatic.

Jack grabbed the controls and fired off a few rounds. The bullets whizzed through the air, leaving realistic tracer trails. Some of the shots ricocheted at different angles when hitting surfaces. Others impacted the ground, generating small craters based on the bullet's velocity and angle.

Jack's eyes widened. "That's fucking awesome, dude. Look at how the impact physics work—it's actually deforming the terrain dynamically!"

Richard leaned forward, nodding. "Yeah, the procedural physics system simulates real-time surface displacement. Instead of pre-rendered damage models, the impact force applies a deformation algorithm to modify the terrain in real-time."

Jack fired a few more rounds, watching the bullet tracers bounce unpredictably. "Damn, this is next-level. But performance-wise... we got a problem. If every bullet creates craters, the game's gonna lag hard once there's too many of them."

Richard rubbed his chin. "Good point. I can implement a decay system. The craters will slowly restore over time unless they're reinforced—like if a player digs an actual trench, that stays. But random bullet impact craters? Those can fade after a while."

Jack grinned. "Smart. And maybe instead of simulating each bullet in high detail, we can apply a simplified collision model for distant shots?"



Richard nodded. "Exactly. Low-LOD physics for long-range impacts. And for optimization, we can limit real-time terrain deformation to only areas where players are actively engaged."

Jack gave a satisfied nod. "Alright, let's tweak that and re-test. This might actually work."

10 minutes later...

Richard and Jack had been deep in testing, tweaking the physics engine. After implementing recoil mechanics and bullet drop, they added a global wind simulation—an algorithm that dynamically altered bullet trajectories based on real-time wind direction and intensity. This meant that players had to adjust their aim based on weather conditions, adding an extra layer of skill and realism to long-range combat.

Jack tested it by firing a few rounds. The bullets now arced subtly over long distances, whizzing through the air at slightly different angles depending on wind speed. He fired again, this time adjusting for wind resistance—the shot landed precisely where he aimed.

"Damn, this makes sniping so much harder," Jack grinned. "No more laser-accurate shots across the map."

Richard nodded. "Exactly. It forces players to actually compensate for range and wind. Now, let's—"

BEEP! BEEP!

The phone alarm blared at 7 PM.

"Ahhh... shit," Jack groaned, stretching. "Let's go to your place first, dude. Aunt Anita's gonna be furious if we're late."

Richard pushed back his chair. "Yeah, let's eat. I'm starving."

Just as they were about to leave, Richard's phone rang.

"Ma?" he answered.

"Where are you? Aren't you gonna have dinner? I'm throwing out this fried fish if you don't show up soon."

"No, no, don't! I'm on my way! I'm bringing Jack, too."

"Alright, I'll be waiting."

Richard pocketed his phone. "Let's go."

As they stepped out of the room, the internet café was brimming with energy. Dozens of players were glued to their screens, their faces illuminated by the glow of their monitors.

Richard glanced over. At PC #8, a guy was controlling Pudge, lurking in the jungle. The entire match had reached a fever pitch—other heroes moved cautiously across the screen. Then, in an instant—Pudge hooked Dragon Knight into the fog.

"GOT HIM!" someone shouted.

But it was a trap.

Three enemy champions immediately closed in. Dragon Knight transformed into his Elder Dragon Form, unleashing an AoE attack, while his teammates—Lina and Sven—jumped in for the kill.

Pudge barely lasted two seconds. "FUCK!" the guy at PC #8 yelled, slamming his desk.

Shouts erupted across the café.

"They're at the jungle! PUSH ROSHAN! ROSHAN!"

Richard smirked. "Damn, these guys are taking it seriously."

He turned to another player wearing a cap turned backward. "How much is the stake?"

The guy smirked. "Two thousand."

Richard whistled. "That's a lot."

The guy nodded. "Yeah. They're from Barangay Dos. No way we're losing after they came here trying to take our money."

Jack chuckled. "Damn, it's a turf war."

Richard shook his head, amused. "Alright, alright. Let's go eat before we get dragged into this, too."

As soon as Jack and Richard stepped out, Jack revved his bike, the engine roaring to life.

But before they could leave—

"FUCK YOU! YOU'RE SO STUPID FOR PICKING PHANTOM! YOU DIDN'T EVEN BUY BOOTS!"

A loud shout erupted from the café, followed by a wave of people storming outside.

Richard and Jack turned just in time to see a fat teenager, his face red with rage, pointing aggressively at a tall, lean teen.

"SHUT UP! YOUR BREATH SMELLS WORSE THAN YOUR GRANDMA'S WET PUSSYCAT!" the tall teen fired back.

The fat teen stepped forward, sneering. "Oh yeah? Well, YOUR breath smells like your father's unwashed, sweaty socks!"

SNAP.

That was it.

The tall teen lunged, shoving the fat teen backward. The fat teen swung a wild punch—and in seconds, the entire crowd exploded into chaos.

Fists flew. Kicks landed. Plastic chairs were knocked over.

Several bystanders rushed in to break it up—including Jack.

"Oi, oi! CUT THAT SHIT OUT!" Jack yelled, pushing between the fighters.


Richard, watching from the side, turned to a nearby guy who was casually lighting a cigarette.



"What about the stakes?" Richard asked.

The guy scoffed, taking a drag. "Nothing. They didn't pay."

Richard raised an eyebrow. "So this whole fight is for nothing?"

The guy chuckled dryly. "Yeah. That pig snapped after his team didn't assist him on Roshan. Dumbass dove in alone and got slaughtered."

Richard shook his head, laughing. "Fucking typical."

After breaking up the fight, Jack hopped onto his bike and revved the engine.

"Get on," he said.

Richard climbed onto the back, gripping Jack's shoulder as the bike sped off into the night.

As they rode, Jack raised his voice over the wind. "So, I heard you were running like a madman today. Some folks saw you and said you finally lost it."

Richard scoffed. "Heh. I'm just trying to get healthy, dude."

Jack chuckled. "Yeah, right. Who the hell's gonna believe that?"

The bike rumbled down the dimly lit streets, the wind cool against their faces.

A few minutes later, they arrived at Richard's house. The porch light was on, casting a warm glow.

At the doorway, Anita stood, a cigarette between her fingers, watching them with a raised eyebrow.

"What took you so long?" she asked, exhaling smoke.

Jack killed the engine and replied, "There was a brawl at the café."

Anita sighed. "Tsk, those boys and their gambling."

Jack stepped forward and did the "Mano Po" gesture, taking Anita's hand and pressing it to his forehead.

Anita smiled. "Oh, Jack, come in. I haven't eaten yet. It's best if we eat together."

Richard chuckled. "You're just saying that so we don't leave you with the dishes."

Anita flicked her cigarette. "Damn right."

As they headed into the kitchen, Anita lifted the table lid, revealing a plate full of steaming white rice and crispy fried fish. A small dish of soy sauce mixed with onions, lemon, and tomatoes sat beside it.

"Let's pray first," Anita said.

The three of them bowed their heads, murmuring a quick prayer before finishing with a soft "Amen."

"Now, let's eat," Anita said. She glanced at Jack with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Jack. It's just fried fish tonight."

Jack waved his hands dismissively, a little embarrassed. "No, no, it's alright, Auntie. I actually like fried fish."

As they ate, Jack brought up the topic. "Auntie, I heard you and Richard are moving to Marawi?"

Anita looked slightly surprised. "Oh? Richard told you? Well... apparently, he's betting on the Lotto 6/49. If he wins— if he wins—then I guess moving to Marawi becomes a reality."

Jack raised an eyebrow mid-chew. "You? Betting on the lotto? I didn't even know you played Swertres."

Anita scoffed. "It's that damn shroom of his again. But hey, who am I to judge? If God wills it, it might actually happen."

Richard grinned. "Hmph... I bet my ass we win tonight, Ma. Just trust me." He posed dramatically. "The Keeper told me this number is my winning number."

Anita rolled her eyes. "Pfft. That's what every old man says before handing his entire salary to the lotto booth."

The table burst into laughter.

Jack wiped his mouth. "Anyway, Auntie, you don't have to worry. Win or not, we're going to Marawi."

Anita paused, surprised. "Really? How? Why?"

Richard glanced at Jack, nodding.

Jack continued, "Well, I might be moving to Marawi with my grandpa. But honestly, it's kinda lonely there. So, I was hoping you and Richard could come with me and live there for a while. You don't have to worry about anything—I already texted my grandpa, and look."

Jack pulled out his phone and showed her a message:

"The more, the better."

Jack grinned. "Besides, Richard and I are working on a project that requires him to be around. It's basically work from home."

Anita seemed emotional for a moment before smiling. "Then, I will shamelessly accept your offer—at least until we finish building our house there."

Jack took another bite of fish. "By the way, Auntie, where's your lot in Marawi? We might be neighbors."

Anita replied, "Tuca Marinaut. That's where we originally lived, but our house was destroyed years ago."

Jack's eyes widened in surprise. "No way! That's great! Ours is in Lumbac Marinaut."

Anita tilted her head. "What's your last name, again?"

"Purnas."

Anita nearly dropped her spoon. "Purnas?! Is Uncle Estello still alive?"



Jack scratched his head, smiling shyly. "Hehe... yeah. That's my grandpa, actually."

Anita gasped. "Really?! Uncle Estello is my godfather! How's Marita?"

Jack nodded. "My aunt? She's in Canada now."

Anita smiled, nostalgia washing over her face. "Ahhh... that's good to hear. I was close with her. Whenever she visited with Uncle, we used to go to the coast and swim in the ocean."

Jack nodded, listening.

Anita leaned in. "Wait... whose child are you?"

"My father is Ernesto."

Anita nodded. "Ahh... I was never really close with your father. Uncle Estello always said he was a man of focus and sheer will. Dedicated to his studies." She took a sip of water. "Is he home?"

Jack shook his head. "No, he's in Quezon for a business trip with my mom."

Anita sighed, shaking her head. "Wow... the world really is small. How come Richard never told me about you?"

Richard smirked. "You never asked. And I also had no idea you and Jack's grandpa were close."

Anita chuckled. "Well, your grandpa and Uncle Estello were good friends back when your grandpa worked for him."