Square Enix, the Japanese publisher behind some of gaming's biggest franchises (Final Fantasy and Kingdom Hearts among them) is currently dealing with a row that should worry anyone who makes things for a living.
As reported by our sister site, the cover art for its upcoming Kingdom Hearts Collection, a bundle of the mainline trilogy heading to Switch 2 and other platforms, was accused of being AI-generated within hours of its reveal. The reasons why are easy to spot. Donald Duck has three fingers on one hand and four on the other. The clock's details don't sit right. Keychains vary in size from one to the next. It's all a bit of a mess.
Square Enix, however, says none of it was AI. According to a statement, the assets were made by its development team without generative tools, and the errors were down to human mistakes.
Maybe that's exactly what happened. The trouble is that nobody outside the studio can actually tell, and three revised versions of the cover later, with some errors fixed and others left untouched, people remained suspicious. That uncertainty is the real story here, and it points to something bigger than one publisher's cover art.
Why this matters to creatives
The bigger issue is this. We've reached a point where "a human made this" is no longer something a company, or a freelancer, can simply assert and expect to be believed. It has to be shown. That flips a long-standing assumption.
For decades, the assumption was that you'd made your work yourself; why would anyone think otherwise? Now, though, it sits the other way round. If your work has any of the supposed AI tells, you're the one explaining yourself, and "trust us" isn't going to cut it.
But here's the good news: documenting your process was a good habit long before any of this. Sketches, rough cuts, contact sheets, early drafts; these have always been potential gold dust. They're marketing material in waiting, evidence of range and craft that a finished piece alone can't show. Invariably people lap this stuff up on social media, because it gives them insights and inspiration they won't find elsewhere.
They're also useful for the person doing the work: articulating why you made a decision, even just to yourself in a caption or a note, tends to sharpen the decision itself. Half the value of a sketchbook is in the writing you never publish. None of this is new advice. What's new is the stakes.
From nice-to-have to necessary
A process trail used to be a bonus, something you kept if you had the time and energy. In the late 2020s, though, it's fast becoming closer to a requirement, at least for anyone whose work might plausibly be mistaken for a machine's.
Layered files, timestamped drafts, reference boards, even screen recordings of a piece taking shape; these may all be necessary one day to prove you made what you made.
![Kingdom Hearts Collection [1-3] - Official Announcement Trailer | Nintendo Direct June 2026 - YouTube](https://img.youtube.com/vi/DW7UhamPIms/maxresdefault.jpg)
This isn't a comfortable position to be in, and it isn't entirely fair. There's something bleak about a future where every uneven line needs a paper trail to survive scrutiny. But it's the environment we're now working in, and pretending otherwise doesn't help.
So keep the rough drafts. Keep the version history switched on. Screen record the process if the software allows it, and hang onto the file even if you never think you'll need it. Because the accusation that a machine made your work doesn't need to be true to cost you a client, a commission or a reputation.
