Video Game Tycoon in Tokyo-Chapter 724: Game of the Year 2007 (Part 1)

"What do you think will win Game of the Year this time?"

"Probably that 'socially correct' game, right? It's been hyped up by a certain group for quite a while."

"Yeah, I think so too. Games like that are easier to generate discussion around. But honestly, it still doesn't sit right with me that that kind of game might take the top spot."

"Well, there's nothing we can do. The Game of the Year Awards are still a relatively small organization. They can't really compete with the bigger institutions."

"But doesn't Kazuo Murakami have Gamestar Electronic Entertainment behind him? He's not without backing, right?"

"Gamestar? Sure, they dominate the video game scene, but that doesn't mean much outside of it."

In the crowd, a few people chatted quietly about the upcoming Game of the Year awards.

They were all people from within the industry.

...

Like many, they hadn't been immune to outside pressure.

Back when the so-called "activist warriors" were at their loudest, their studio had caved and produced a few games they really hadn't wanted to make.

Those games all had one thing in common — the characters were noticeably unattractive.

The gameplay was still solid, but players just didn't take to them.

It had been a rough patch for their company.

Now that Gamestar had seemingly chased off those shrill voices, the pressure was finally easing up. Things weren't nearly as suffocating as they had been.

Still, after experiencing that pressure firsthand, they doubted even Gamestar could win a full-on clash with some of the bigger voices — especially when many of them had political backing. That kind of power wasn't something a regular, commercially driven company could go head-to-head with.

If it weren't for that, they wouldn't have complied with those demands in the first place.

Takayuki didn't hear these murmurs, but even if he had, he probably wouldn't have paid them much mind.

From a business perspective, those "activists" were certainly a pain — a constant source of headaches for developers, who were forced to alter their visions just to avoid backlash.

But in his eyes, this was just a minor footnote in the greater journey of the gaming industry.

In his original world, the pressure had been far more intense. Yet games continued to thrive regardless — their growth undeterred by all the noise.

Back there, Japanese developers made whatever they wanted. Male or female characters, they were always designed to be beautiful — societal commentary be damned.

This world hadn't reached that level of creative freedom yet.

But here, most devs still leaned toward making the games they wanted to make, even if there were a few exceptions who gave in.

In that sense, this world was actually doing better than the one he came from.

Takayuki hoped this spirit would endure — otherwise, his own continued passion for game development would feel meaningless.

He had no interest in a world where every game needed to be wrapped in a bow of "political correctness" just to get released.

That's why he was so committed to pushing back now — to setting things right.

And tonight's Game of the Year Awards just happened to be the perfect opportunity.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this year's Game of the Year Awards!"

As the quiet discussions faded, the theater lights dimmed and Kazuo Murakami emerged from behind the curtain, dressed in a sharp suit.

Not long ago, he'd been just an ordinary middle-schooler.

Now, he stood confidently under the spotlight — no longer awkward or shy, having grown rapidly in recent years.

He began by thanking all the developers in attendance, offering heartfelt appreciation to the teams behind every nominated game.

As always, Gamestar Electronic Entertainment, serving as both a major sponsor and judging panel member, did not submit any of their own games for nomination. Including them would basically be unfair — they'd sweep everything, leaving no room for other studios to breathe.

This was a tacit agreement across the entire industry. Everyone knew Gamestar was the industry's undisputed king — the unofficial Game of the Year, every year.

And when people thought of that, they couldn't help but glance toward Takayuki, sitting front and center.

Read 𝓁atest chapters at fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm Only.

He really was a godlike figure in this world of games.

Murakami shot Takayuki a subtle look from the stage.

Takayuki gave a slight nod in return — the silent cue that the ceremony could begin in earnest.

Murakami steadied himself and began presenting each award one by one.

"Best Action Game of the Year: Crusader Hunt!"

"Ohhh yeah!!"

"Best Sound Design: Homebound!"

"Yes! We did it!"

"Best Technical Achievement: Realm of the Gods!"

"Hahahaha! It's ours! The award's ours!"

...

With every award announced, pockets of celebration erupted from different corners of the theater.

For game developers, these awards were more than just trophies — they were validation. They meant prestige. They gave studios the momentum to attract more investment and fund bigger, more ambitious projects.

"Best Role-Playing Game of the Year: Sun Knight: Dark World!"

"Oh yeah!"

In one part of the audience, a group cheered loudly — the core team behind the Sun Knight series.

They were a first-party team under Surei Electronics, and among the most technically capable developers in the company.

Winning Best RPG this year was well deserved.

Even Takayuki acknowledged their work.

Despite his busy schedule, he'd taken time to play the latest Sun Knight entry.

In his view, the game was already on par with the 8-9/10 RPGs from his original world.

Years of development experience had truly paid off — they had finally come into their own.

Among all studios not under Gamestar, this was the one most adept at making RPGs.

Even Mystic Dragon's Hoard, the evergreen MMORPG from Brown Entertainment, didn't quite compare.

That game was more like a budget World of Warcraft. Popular, sure — but in Takayuki's eyes, not particularly impressive.