The fact that Takayuki had become a father was, naturally, no secret among certain high-level circles.
In fact, some tabloid reporters initially planned to leak the news. But very quickly, a few unnamed individuals issued firm warnings to those reporters, and the matter quietly disappeared.
When a person's status reaches a certain level, their daily life is deliberately removed from the public eye.
This isn't meant to emphasize how lofty they are—it's simply a form of self-protection.
Celebrities thrive on exposure; fame is their livelihood. They spare no effort in publicizing their private lives, and tabloids love digging up every juicy detail.
But people like Takayuki are different. If he does not wish to go public, then society's news outlets will consciously avoid reporting on his personal life.
Perhaps there really are reporters bold enough to publish such news anyway—but the price would be their permanent exile from the journalism world. No media company would dare hire them, afraid of the trouble they'd bring.
Even news organizations that didn't have the best relationship with Takayuki would still maintain this unspoken understanding.
As a result, the birth of Yume Takayuki remained confined to a very small circle.
After that, Takayuki didn't rush back to work. Instead, he patiently stayed by Ayu and the baby, enjoying a rare period of peace and leisure.
For daily care, Takayuki only handled the simpler tasks; everything else was left to professionals.
Taking advantage of this time, he also cleared several games he hadn't yet finished—excellent titles created by developers of this world, including works from the Sun Knight series.
That series was one of Takayuki's favorite games since coming to this world—a game that truly belonged to this world.
At the same time, Takayuki deliberately avoided paying attention to outside news and events.
No matter what storms were raging out there, he chose to ignore them.
He did care about Cyberpunk 2077, of course—but he suppressed the urge to check related news, choosing instead to stay home with his wife and child, and replay old games.
This continued for about a month.
By then, Cyberpunk 2077 had been out for a month and a half. Ayu's health had gradually recovered, and the baby was full of energy.
Originally, Takayuki hadn't intended for his child to be exposed to video games so early.
But to his surprise, the little one showed an almost obsessive fondness for game consoles.
As long as there was a console nearby and a game running, she would be cheerful—and obedient.
Without one?
She would not settle down.
The caregivers all said it was the strangest thing they'd ever seen.
Perhaps… this would be a girl who truly loved video games?
Takayuki found himself looking forward to seeing how little Yume would grow up.
And if she genuinely loved games—and even wanted to develop them—then he would absolutely do everything he could to become the most qualified game mentor possible.
If people outside knew about this thought, they'd probably cry tears of envy.
There were very few people in this world who could be personally taught by Takayuki.
Aiko, Kazumi, and Oto had all been private disciples—there were rumors, but never any official confirmation.
Being seriously taught by Takayuki was an extraordinarily rare opportunity.
Some even said that with Takayuki's guidance, one could avoid ten years of detours in game development—and that wasn't an exaggeration.
After the month ended, Takayuki had to return to what he truly loved.
A child's growth took time—there was no rushing it. Besides, even without him constantly present, she would still receive the best care possible.
That allowed Takayuki to fully devote himself, without worry, to his passion.
His unreliable, struggling-novelist father was as unreliable as ever—but his mother in this world, Yuko Takayuki, was extremely dependable.
"Mr. Takayuki, heading to work?"
On a morning in the second half of 2019, Takayuki sat in his private car. The driver turned around with a familiar smile and asked.
"Yes. Let's go to work."
"Got it!"
The car started up and headed toward the Gamestar Electronic Entertainment headquarters.
Many people already knew Takayuki was returning.
All of Gamestar's senior executives rushed out, preparing to welcome him—but Takayuki called them on the way and shut that down immediately, telling them to get back to work. He had no need for pointless ceremonies.
The executives could only look at one another helplessly before dispersing to their duties.
Arriving at the Gamestar building, Takayuki felt as though he hadn't been here in years.
More than a month of rest really was a long time.
More importantly, he'd lived almost completely cut off from the outside world during that period, asking about nothing.
Even when people like Matsuhashi Minoru called to congratulate him and tried to talk about recent events, Takayuki declined them all, saying they could discuss it once he returned to work. That month was for forgetting everything else.
Now back at the company, riding the elevator to the top floor, Takayuki slowly felt his work mindset return.
Entering his office, his personal assistant was already waiting.
"President Takayuki, welcome back!"
"Misaki, it really has been a while. You don't seem to have changed much in a month."
"Well, it's only a month—how much could I change?" Misaki said with a smile, then suddenly remembered something and started rummaging through her bag.
"Oh right, President—I prepared a small gift for little Yume. I originally wanted to deliver it to your home personally, but you said you wanted to be isolated for a month, so I didn't dare disturb you."
She took out a delicate little gift box.
About the size of a palm, it was covered in intricate patterns that felt strangely familiar to Takayuki.
This wasn't a Japanese style.
It looked like… ancient cultural motifs from the Chinese mainland.
Curiosity flickered across Takayuki's face.
Misaki carefully opened the box. Inside was something heart-shaped—
No. Not heart-shaped.
It was a lock—an ancient lock—gleaming with a silvery sheen.
"President Takayuki, this is called a longevity lock. It's a symbol from ancient Eastern culture, representing blessings and protection. When I traveled to the Chinese mainland, I learned about it, and found that it's considered a wonderful gift for children—so I prepared one especially."
"This must have cost quite a bit," Takayuki said.
The silver lock was inlaid with gemstones. He didn't fully understand them, but he could tell it wasn't cheap.
Misaki really went all out.
"Compared to what you pay me, President, this is nothing," Misaki said. "Think of it as my blessing for little Yume."
Takayuki was quite familiar with longevity locks—he'd lived in China in his previous life. They were like protective charms for children, with very auspicious meaning.
"Alright, I'll accept it," Takayuki said.
"But don't even think about getting a raise because of this."