Video Game Tycoon in Tokyo-Chapter 715: I Believe in You

Faced with the flood of anonymous emails, Kazuo Murakami chose not to respond.

At the same time, he noticed that the voting page on his game review website was showing more and more votes for those so-called "correct" games.

But those games weren't fun.

Murakami silently watched all of this unfold.

Had some of his beliefs become outdated?

When did discussions about games stop being about "fun" or "cool," and start being about "correctness"?

Was he really supposed to go against his conscience and give those games higher scores?

That was something he never wanted to do.

...

...

Suddenly, he found himself hoping that a Gamestar Electronic Entertainment game could win Game of the Year.

Because Gamestar's games were practically free from controversy—nobody could find fault with them.

Gamestar's titles were the pinnacle of the gaming industry.

If Gamestar entered the Game of the Year competition, it would easily dominate the list. Almost no other game company could compare.

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Murakami hoped it would happen—then he wouldn't have to deal with all this pressure.

But he couldn't do that. Gamestar was already a member of the judging panel for the Game of the Year awards. If their games were also eligible to win, it would create a PR nightmare—being both judge and contestant.

Gamestar themselves probably wouldn't want that kind of controversy.

Wait!

Murakami's eyes suddenly lit up.

Maybe he could show all of this to Gamestar and ask for the opinion of the "God of Games" himself.

At first, he thought of contacting his mysterious benefactor—but that person rarely replied to his messages, clearly preferring to keep a distance. Murakami understood that and had stopped reaching out too often.

So, without hesitation, he reached out to Takayuki, hoping to talk to him directly about the current state of the gaming industry.

At that moment, Takayuki was in the critical phase of developing Monster Hunter: World.

Since completing the game's framework, promotional work had already begun, and development was entering its final stretch.

Thanks to Gamestar's massive development team, there was no need for overtime—everything was on schedule.

As Monster Hunter continued gaining popularity, Takayuki also felt more confident about ignoring those critics who claimed the game was "problematic."

People like that never brought anything positive to the gaming world—only trouble.

Just then, Takayuki's private phone rang.

There weren't many people who had this number—only the core members of his company and fewer than ten outsiders.

He glanced at the caller ID. It was Kazuo Murakami. So he picked it up.

It was rare for Murakami to call him directly.

They didn't talk often, except during the annual Game of the Year season, when Murakami would reach out as a formality to discuss the event.

Takayuki was one of the key judges for the awards now.

He even had a special privilege—a "decisive vote."

This meant that aside from the top award, Takayuki could cast a single, absolute vote that would guarantee any game he chose would win in its category.

Even if the game was terrible, that one vote would make it a winner.

It was a privilege granted to him as the undisputed leader of the game industry.

And almost no one questioned it.

Takayuki did a quick mental check—it was indeed time for the Game of the Year process to begin. Murakami was likely calling to discuss the usual award details.

"Hello, Murakami. It's been a while," Takayuki greeted as he answered the call.

"Takayuki-senpai, I usually don't dare to bother you—wouldn't want to interrupt you while you're busy making great games," Murakami joked warmly.

Their relationship was close, even though they didn't talk often.

Murakami was much younger than Takayuki. Back when he first entered the industry, it was Takayuki who supported and mentored him.

In many ways, Takayuki was Murakami's benefactor.

After a bit of small talk, Takayuki got straight to the point. "So, I assume you're calling about this year's Game of the Year?"

"That's right. I wanted to discuss the selection process."

Takayuki said, "I haven't played many games this year, so I'll trust your judgment. If your pick doesn't get enough votes, feel free to use my decisive vote."

"No, Takayuki-senpai. I actually don't have a problem with the voting process this year—it's something else I'm struggling with."

"Something else? Like what?" Takayuki asked, puzzled.

"Have you noticed how the atmosphere in the gaming industry is changing lately?"

Takayuki paused. "The atmosphere? In what way exactly?"

"I mean how people judge games. It's no longer just about whether a game is fun or well-designed. They're adding all sorts of new criteria."

Takayuki nodded. "That's not necessarily a bad thing. More ways to evaluate a game can mean progress for the industry. But... it sounds like you've got more on your mind."

Murakami gave a wry smile. "If it were just about gameplay mechanics or creativity, I wouldn't be bothering you. But lately, I've noticed the industry is being increasingly influenced by outside forces."

"Can you give me an example?"

"Do you know the game Deep Space Exploration?"

"I've heard of it. But I haven't had much time for new games lately—I've got too many projects on my plate."

Takayuki was currently juggling multiple home console games and preparing for entry into the mobile market. He barely had time to play anymore.

Originally, his dream was to live a laid-back life, playing and enjoying the games of this world.

But clearly, fate had other plans.

Murakami explained, "It's a space exploration game. The story is decent, and in its genre, the quality is above average."

"Are you thinking of giving it an award? That's fine too," Takayuki replied.

"No... it's not that I want to give it an award—it's that certain groups want me to. But I don't really want to."

Takayuki immediately said, "I trust your judgment. You make the call. I'll back you."