Video Game Tycoon in Tokyo-Chapter 987: I Refuse

To be honest, when Takayuki first met this man, he thought he seemed alright—relaxed and informal, which suited his own style. That was part of the reason he was willing to talk business.

If the person had been overly formal, Takayuki would've probably just told him to skip the nonsense and get straight to the point so he could make his own judgment.

But the moment the guy opened his mouth and started spewing buzzwords, Takayuki felt like he was suddenly back in his old world.

He remembered how the internet company he used to work for would go crazy looking for investors every few months—and they'd speak in the exact same way.

It felt familiar... but also incredibly annoying.

Then, when Takayuki asked him to cut the fluff and explain the product directly, the man introduced something very familiar:

Encryption for games? Anti-piracy? Preventing cracked versions from spreading?

Oh boy.

Takayuki could only think: Of course. Denuvo finally shows up.

Denuvo was a well-known digital rights management (DRM) software from his original world. Its main function was to prevent pirated versions of games, making sure players couldn't enjoy them for free.

On paper, Denuvo benefited game developers. It did help boost sales and protect revenue.

In theory, it was a win-win.

But only in theory.

Denuvo was a love-hate tool.

Game developers loved it—because it protected their bottom line.

Players, however, hated it—because it hogged system resources.

Games that could've used 100% of a system's power to deliver top-tier visuals ended up using only 70-80%. The rest went to DRM overhead. This made the experience worse for the people who actually paid for the game.

Ironically, the pirated versions—once cracked and stripped of Denuvo—often performed better.

Takayuki always hated it.

Because of DRM like this, many games he played had disappointing performance, even on good hardware.

Consoles weren't affected, thanks to their closed systems. That was one of the few "safe zones" in gaming.

But on PC? Denuvo was notorious.

"So what you're saying is, you've developed a program that can protect legitimate games from being cracked for a long time, thereby increasing sales?"

"Yes! Exactly, Mr. Takayuki! Sounds like you've already heard of us. Some game companies have already seen big sales jumps after using our product."

The guy was excited. He took it as a good sign that Takayuki understood right away—proof, he thought, that his product was becoming famous.

He was already dreaming about signing this deal, hitting it big, and living a life of yachts and mansions.

"I'm not interested in your product," Takayuki replied bluntly.

"...Uh, Mr. Takayuki, perhaps you don't fully understand what we're offering. I can explain—"

"No need. I know exactly what it is. I only have one question for you. Answer it clearly, and I might reconsider."

The man straightened up a little, trying to look serious.

"Alright, go ahead."

He expected a challenge—but felt confident he could handle it.

"My question is simple: does your encryption software consume system performance while the game is running? And if so, how much?"

The man froze.

It wasn't that the question was difficult—it was easy, actually. He instantly knew the answer.

But how did Takayuki know to ask that question?

It was their biggest flaw. And it was a serious one.

Just like Denuvo in the original world, this encryption software used up system resources.

And not a small amount, either.

Denuvo had gone through many updates over the years. In the beginning, it was nearly useless for stopping piracy, yet still consumed massive resources—players hated it.

Some hackers even vowed to crack any game that used Denuvo, just to spite it.

But despite the backlash, DRM stuck around—because for game publishers, sales came first.

Most profit-driven companies ignored the complaints. And so, Denuvo became widespread, much to PC gamers' dismay.

Eventually, a meme emerged: "Suffering for buying legit."

It described players who paid for games—only to get worse performance than pirates.

"...Uh..." the man stammered.

He didn't know how to answer. Or rather, he didn't want to.

But Takayuki already understood.

This world wasn't much different from the one he came from. All the same issues would appear eventually.

"I refuse. I'm not using your product. Gamestar Electronic Entertainment won't touch your DRM software. You may leave," Takayuki said, without hesitation.