Video Game Tycoon in Tokyo-Chapter 767: Play a Little Longer

"Mom, I'm home!"

In a household in Japan, a child burst through the door after school.

"Bunta, perfect timing. Go buy a new bottle of soy sauce— we're out."

...

"Bunta?"

"Bunta!"

Annoyed, the mother came out of the kitchen and walked toward the living room.

She had already heard the TV turn on from the hallway, and the familiar sounds of Mario coming from the speakers.

...

This kid... back home for one second and already playing games. It was frustrating.

But truth be told, her son used to be obsessed with anime and tokusatsu shows—he'd just switched to video games now.

Not just Bunta—even she, the mother, occasionally played these trendy games.

After her husband and son left the house each day, she would watch the morning drama, chat with the other housewives about the latest gossip, clean up the house... and then, alone, play a bit of the newest video game.

She still remembered when she first met her husband.

Back then, she was just a shy teenage girl, browsing a motion-control game at a Gamestar Electronic Entertainment store.

And that's when her future husband appeared—personally recommending games to her.

Now she was his wife.

So many years had passed, and video games had become part of their family.

But still, the fact that Bunta ignored her and jumped straight into gaming couldn't be overlooked.

She marched over to him, grabbed him by the ear and said, "Go buy the soy sauce! You hear me? If you don't, I'll confiscate all your games!"

"Ahh! Ow ow ow! I got it, Mom! I'm going, I'm going!"

Grimacing, Bunta shot to his feet, took the money, and dashed out the door.

His mother shook her head and glanced at the TV, saying nothing.

About thirty minutes later, her husband came home from work.

"I'm home, honey."

"Welcome back, dear. Dinner's almost ready—just wait in the living room for a bit."

He nodded and walked to the living room.

"Huh? Who's playing Mario?"

"Bunta."

"Oh, that rascal." He chuckled and shrugged it off, pulling out some sake to relax.

But his eyes kept drifting to the game on screen.

Eventually, he couldn't resist the urge anymore—he picked up the controller and started playing Mario himself.

Before long, Bunta returned with the soy sauce, dropped it off in the kitchen, and rushed into the living room to keep playing.

Only to find... his dad was already playing his game.

"DAD! Why are you playing MY game?!"

"Just a bit more, just a bit more. Don't rush me, kid."

...

"Look at you! Dad, you're awful! You died to a basic mini-boss! You really shouldn't be touching my Mario! Didn't you say the console was mine now?"

"Heh heh... my hands were itchy. C'mon, all my lives are gone anyway. Let's play something else together—how about a co-op game?"

"Really, Dad? It's been so long since we played together."

"Of course. You're my precious son—I've gotta make sure you're happy."

"Dad's the best!"

From the kitchen, the mother smiled warmly. This family life really was wonderful.

Both parents had grown up loving games, and they were open-minded with their son.

Under their understanding approach, Bunta wasn't addicted—he balanced gaming with everyday life well.

And now and then, games helped bring the family even closer.

Not long after, sounds of battle filled the living room—it was Street Fighter.

To the mother, both her husband and son looked like little boys again, eyes locked on the game screen.

She finished preparing dinner and brought it into the living room.

But she didn't rush them, just gently reminded them that the food was ready.

"Ha! Dad, you're terrible! You couldn't even beat me, a kid!"

Moments later, Bunta had defeated his father's team and declared victory.

The father's face flushed with embarrassment. "One more match!"

"Heh heh, doesn't matter how many times—you can't beat me! I'm the best!"

...

A few minutes later, Bunta won again. He stood in front of his dad, swaying with exaggerated swagger, proudly showing off his win.

The father tried to stay calm.

Stay cool. He's your kid. No matter how bad he beat you, you can't spank him over a game...

But wow, this kid really needed a lesson.

"Alright, time for dinner," the mother said gently.

"Just one more!" the father growled, picking up the controller again. "I refuse to lose to a little kid!"

...

Another few minutes passed. The father lost again.

Fighting games required both experience and fast reflexes.

And no adult could match a child's reaction speed—especially not one who worked all day, compared to an elementary schooler with all the time in the world.

"Heh heh, just give it up, Dad."

"No! I will—"

"Okay honey, that's enough."

"But—"

"Fine. You're hopeless. I'll show you how it's done."

Suddenly, the mother rolled up her sleeves, walked over, and snatched the controller from him. "Alright Bunta, let's go. One match."

"Huh? Mom, really? Let's just eat..."

"You've been way too smug. As your mom, I can't just let this slide! I have to win back some pride for your dad!"

"Hmph... even if you do, Dad's still a weakling."

"You little punk, what was that?" the dad glared.

The mother cut in, "Enough talk. One match. Then we eat!"

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Bunta shrank back a bit, then nodded—he had no choice but to accept his mom's challenge.

The air in the living room was a little tense—but also full of laughter and warmth.