Video Game Tycoon in Tokyo-Chapter 992: You’re Too Inexperienced

"I think you may have misunderstood something."

Evan continued pitching his product with great enthusiasm.

This time, he was confident he could finally convince Takayuki.

After all, he had recently caught wind—through various channels—that Gamestar Electronic Entertainment's revenue had declined.

Gamestar usually didn't publicly disclose its business performance, but regular tax reporting to the government was still necessary. Naturally, some information would leak during this process.

There was also the official sales statistics from the BattleNet platform.

That was a function left over from their past competition with Surei Electronics, and it was never removed.

It had since become a reference for many in the industry. Game developers would check the rankings to monitor current trends and decide what kinds of games might sell well.

Even players without strong genre preferences could use the rankings to find games that were at least widely accepted.

...

...

Takayuki interrupted Evan's long-winded pitch and pointed to a clock on the wall: "You have two minutes left."

"Uh..."

Evan was stunned for a second, then said, "Mr. Takayuki, do you still think our product isn't good enough? Recently, our encryption software has helped many companies increase the value of their games. Their sales have gone up significantly. But your company's titles are suffering heavy losses due to the current wave of piracy."

Takayuki narrowed his eyes. "From the way you're speaking, it sounds like you're saying that unless I buy your encryption product, our game sales will continue to decline?"

"No, no, that's absolutely not what I mean. Mr. Takayuki, your games are fantastic. I always buy them the moment they release—sometimes even the collector's editions just to have them in my collection."

"Well, thank you for liking my games," said Takayuki.

Evan quickly added, "And it's precisely because I recognize how good your games are that they need proper care and protection. My encryption product is a way to do that."

Takayuki said, "But like I said before—if your product impacts game performance while running, I won't use it. Are you here to try and change my mind again? Or have you solved that problem and can now guarantee your software won't consume any resources during gameplay?"

"Well... that issue still can't be solved. Or rather..."

Or rather—it was unsolvable.

Encryption software, by design, had to run alongside the game at all times.

That was how it could provide maximum protection and detect piracy in real-time.

But if it, as Takayuki demanded, had no impact on game performance, then it would lose its core function.

In essence, Takayuki's requirement was fundamentally at odds with how this kind of software works.

At least, for now, these two things couldn't be reconciled.

Takayuki shrugged. "Then we have nothing more to discuss. You have one minute left."

"Mr. Takayuki, I must be frank. If you don't take proper measures, your games will continue to lose value. Gamers are a group that loves getting things for free. If they can play a game without paying, they absolutely will. Abandoning encryption just to avoid a small performance hit is unwise."

Takayuki replied with a mocking smile: "You're a gamer too, aren't you? That means you just insulted yourself. And I think you seriously underestimate the ethics of the gaming community. Yes, people like free stuff—but most players also have a moral compass."

Just like Takayuki himself. When he grew up and gained purchasing power, he made it a point to buy the games he had played as a pirate when younger.

It wasn't really about playing them again—it was more about peace of mind.

Or maybe something else.

And there were many people like him.

As more players matured and gained the ability to spend money, they started paying for the games they once pirated.

This behavior helped revive some very old games.

In his original world, while major titles dominated, niche games also found space thanks to players who deeply loved the medium.

Back then, independent developers rarely had encryption tools. Sometimes their games would be pirated before even clearing official platform reviews.

And yet, those games still found success, allowing small devs to survive.

But Evan was clearly pushing his message too far.

It seemed he was so obsessed with selling his product that he had lost all sense of proportion.

"Mr. Takayuki," Evan said coldly, "you really are outdated. You'll see—your games will be swallowed by piracy. And you'll fade away. It's a real shame... a big gaming company like yours headed toward ruin."

Outdated?

Of course, people in this world didn't know Takayuki had experience from another world.

In that world, he had already seen every phase of the gaming industry.

Piracy waves, political-correctness trends, exclusive-title booms, the rise and fall of encryption software—he had seen it all.

To others, he looked like someone resistant to change.

But to Takayuki, these trends were old news—so old, he was sick of seeing them.

"All right, your time's up. I have work to do. Don't come back to my company again—we won't welcome you." Takayuki stood up, preparing to see him out.

But then something in Evan's expression caught Takayuki's attention.

"By the way, your tone earlier... it sounded like a threat. You seem quite confident that piracy will bring us down. So—what exactly is your connection to piracy?"

"Nothing! I'm just giving you a friendly warning," Evan quickly denied. "How could I possibly be connected to piracy?"

But his smug look said otherwise.

"Even if I were connected, Mr. Takayuki, could you even accuse me without evidence?"

"Evidence?" Takayuki raised an eyebrow. "If I really wanted evidence... it wouldn't be hard to get."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

Takayuki smiled. "Clearly, you don't really understand Gamestar Electronic Entertainment. Do you know how many experts we have in internet technology and computer forensics?"

Evan frowned.

He didn't understand why Takayuki was suddenly talking like this—but he started to feel a vague sense of unease.

"Our company has a top-tier AI team. We also have a world-class research group in programming and computing called the Stanford Legion. We're connected with several universities. Do you really think I don't have the means to handle your little tricks?"

Evan was stunned.

Stanford Legion?

What the hell was that?

It sounded powerful... but he had never heard of it before.

Not that surprising—only veteran insiders would know about Gamestar Electronic Entertainment's internal structure.

Gamestar currently had 20 official game development departments.

10 were in Japan, the company's home base.

4 were in the U.S., each handling different genres and developing Western-style games like Uncharted, GTA, and Cyberpunk 2077.

Europe, Australia, and Africa combined had 6 development departments.

These 20 teams produced high-quality games year-round—they were the company's front-line troops.

Takayuki personally managed them. Aside from being president, he also sat on the board for game development.

Behind those teams were the engine development division and VFX studio—also under Takayuki's command.

Gamestar also had 5 engineering departments: 3 in Japan, 2 in the U.S.

They handled all game-related hardware development, led by engineering director Airi Hayazawa.

Matsuhashi Minoru oversaw all business operations, marketing, and expansion—he was the company's chief executive director.

And then, there was one more team—semi-secret, but easy to find out about with a little digging.

The Stanford Legion.

It operated with military-style independence, fully autonomous and not directly managed by the company. It had only one leader:

Aya Tsukino.

The Stanford Legion was the peak of computing power.

Every technical problem Gamestar faced—they solved it.

Everyone in the Legion came from Stanford, all top-tier in computer-related fields.

Stanford had a deep partnership with Gamestar. If a student passed Aya Tsukino's interview, they could bypass HR entirely and get hired directly—with high pay.

Their only task: solve Gamestar's toughest problems.

Whether it was game programming, new software, server maintenance, or cybersecurity.

And when necessary—they acted as the company's hidden dagger.

Ready to strike with lethal precision.

"The Stanford Legion..."

Takayuki said calmly, "Believe me—the internet is not a lawless land. What you think is 'leaving no trace' may fool regular people. But to professionals, your so-called stealth is nothing but a clumsy trick."

He walked up to Evan and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm the senior here. You're the junior. I'll give you this advice—don't let me catch you doing anything stupid. Or your end will be worse than you can imagine."

At this moment, all of Takayuki's earlier casualness was gone.

Now, he radiated an overwhelming authority.

It was the calm, honed presence built through experience and time.

Evan, barely in his twenties, couldn't hope to match that.

Especially considering Takayuki had ten extra years of experience from his previous life.

On the internet, never assume you're truly hidden.

The only way to never leave a trace is to do nothing at all. freewёbnoνel.com

Once you act, the data always tells the truth.

Evan began to sweat.

He no longer cared to exchange pleasantries. Sweating profusely, he hurried out of Gamestar Electronic Entertainment.

The moment he exited the building, he called his partner.

"Hello? Hey—I want to know if we covered our tracks properly."

"What? Covered perfectly? No way anyone could find us?"

"You sure?"

"What do you mean, you're not sure?! You said everything would be wiped clean!"

"You're saying data can't be totally erased?!"

"Damn it!"

Evan bolted from the Gamestar headquarters.

Meanwhile, the Stanford Legion was already in motion.

In fact, they had begun investigating the piracy wave as soon as it began.

Aya Tsukino was a programming genius.

Her specialty had always been cyber offense and defense.

Now, she was back in her element.

Her team was made up of elite minds in internet and computer science.

Against such a team, very little could stay hidden on the internet.

In cyberspace, evidence didn't need to be direct.

Even the tiniest bit of data could become irrefutable proof.