Video Game Tycoon in Tokyo-Chapter 766: Isn’t This Also a Kind of...

"Mr. Takayuki, honestly, you really should take your company public. If you listed on the U.S. stock market, I'm sure your valuation would skyrocket—maybe even hit $100 billion," Bob said enthusiastically.

At this point, Bob deeply admired Takayuki.

Every one of Takayuki's decisions was flawless.

It was like he had a god's-eye view of the world—able to resolve any issue in business or gaming with ease.

But Takayuki simply shook his head and replied calmly, "Your business strategy and mine are quite different. I don't really need extra funding for anything major... well, maybe I do have some big plans. But I already make money pretty fast. And if I really run into financial trouble, worst case—I could always sell off part of my Facebook shares. That alone would ease a lot of pressure."

Bob immediately shook his head. "Mr. Takayuki, there's absolutely no need to do that! If you're ever short on cash, just tell me—anything under a billion, I'll find a way to cover it. But don't sell your shares! That's a huge asset. And with your guidance, Facebook is only going to grow stronger. Selling now would be the worst possible move!"

For most company founders, if an original shareholder wanted to sell, they'd be thrilled to buy them out—consolidating more power for themselves.

But that logic didn't apply to Takayuki.

...

...

If anything, Bob wanted Takayuki to own more shares.

Unfortunately, the U.S. government wouldn't allow it. 30% was the maximum shareholding they could accept, and only if all voting rights were delegated to Bob.

Since Takayuki had already handed over all voting power, there was no need for Bob to covet his shares. If Takayuki sold, it would mean losing that control.

Bob would rather borrow money than let Takayuki give up a single percent.

Takayuki smiled. "Relax. I was just speaking hypothetically. But I might consider borrowing money someday."

Takayuki wasn't in any rush. His company was already massive—Gamestar Electronic Entertainment now employed over 15,000 game developers worldwide.

Including the Unreal Engine team, the total exceeded 16,000 people.

That didn't even count staff from his acquired flash memory company or store clerks hired at official retail outlets.

Even Ubisoft, the big canned-game factory from the original world, wasn't this large.

Ubisoft hired heavily to ensure consistent output. But Gamestar's growth was all real demand. Without enough staff, how could Takayuki bring more games into this world, and let people here experience the magic of the games from his original world?

If he wanted to expand further, he easily could.

People would line up for the chance to work at Gamestar.

If Takayuki announced the creation of a new dev team and started hiring, there would be a flood of applicants—most wouldn't even care about seniority or titles.

Just being part of Gamestar was the dream of nearly every game developer today.

Still, Takayuki wasn't feeling the need to expand just yet. There was already plenty of work on his plate. Maybe in the future, but not now.

Meanwhile, Facebook's smartphone had launched successfully, and sales were strong.

Naturally, Gamestar began making a fortune from game sales too.

First, the bundled classic FC titles.

These games were enjoying a second life thanks to smartphones.

Many players had already experienced them on handheld consoles, but that didn't matter—they were cheap, and now even more convenient to play.

Being able to pull out your phone and game anywhere was a major plus for players.

Gamestar also launched brand-new mobile games.

Some handheld titles were adapted for mobile.

Games like Fruit Ninja, Angry Birds, and Cut the Rope—originally created in the early mobile boom—were all highly polished and perfect for the platform.

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Takayuki also had a new mobile team develop exclusive titles, including improved versions of Tetris and spin-offs based on major IPs.

For example, simple jumping-style games from the Mario series—designed for short bursts of play.

On mobile, the goal was to capture users' fragmented attention.

Smartphone users and traditional gamers were very different. You couldn't just dump console games onto phones and expect success—that would only get you eliminated by more focused mobile developers.

Faced with Facebook's booming sales, Micfo couldn't sit still any longer.

After launching their own new products, they finally did something Myron Case had long resisted:

They reached out to game developers, inviting them to create games for Micfo smartphones.

Myron's expectations weren't even that high. As long as they could make something comparable to Tetris, that was enough.

MK phones had always been great gaming platforms. But Myron never emphasized that aspect—or deliberately ignored it.

Still, a few developers had already begun making games for MK phones, but with little traction.

Now, with official Micfo support, these efforts got a serious boost.

That said, Myron wasn't exactly happy about it.

He never wanted to rely on video games to validate his products.

But if he didn't adapt now, his original angel investors would surely be upset.

Even if Myron wasn't afraid of being ousted again—he still had to respect the feelings of those who had backed him early on.

And so, reluctantly, he gave the green light to collaborate with the gaming industry.