Cyberpunk 2077 was an extremely replayable game.
Under normal circumstances, after a game's release, its popularity usually lasted about a month.
If it stretched longer, maybe just a bit over a month at most.
But Cyberpunk 2077 contained so much content that whenever its popularity seemed about to dip, a large number of players would discover new gameplay mechanics or new sources of fun, keeping the game's overall hype alive.
This was actually easy to understand. To date, this was the most expensive game ever developed. While other game companies were still producing "big-budget" titles costing around one hundred million dollars, Gamestar Electronic Entertainment had gone straight for a development budget of one billion dollars.
After compiling the data, Takayuki estimated that the total cost of Cyberpunk 2077 had already exceeded one billion dollars.
And several development teams still hadn't been disbanded.
Their next tasks were to develop more character backgrounds…
…and to update the game's main storyline.
In addition to the existing main plot, a brand-new main story branch would be added, allowing the protagonist to explore other areas before reaching the final ending.
This new explorable region would be nearly the same size as Night City itself.
On top of that, Cyberpunk 2077's online mode and long-term post-launch operations were already being planned. Takayuki intended for Cyberpunk 2077 to be a long-term live-service project.
In the future, the online mode would also become a powerful revenue generator.
About one month after Cyberpunk 2077 was released, other game developers felt the timing was finally right and decided it was time to launch their own games.
They enthusiastically began their promotional campaigns.
But once their games officially launched, the sales figures for all of them dropped by at least 30% compared to expectations.
Games that were supposed to sell one million copies ended up selling only six or seven hundred thousand.
For game companies, that was a significant loss.
At first, they couldn't figure out the reason. They didn't understand why players weren't buying their games—based on past trends, sales should have been solid.
Was it just as Takayuki had once said—that industrialized, assembly-line games also had an upper limit?
As more and more of these formulaic big-budget games were produced, players gradually became fatigued, finding such productions increasingly dull—much like Hollywood blockbusters overloaded with special effects.
Simply piling on flashy effects couldn't generate matching returns. Only when story, visuals, pacing, and overall quality were all up to standard could a work truly win people over.
Many game companies found themselves deeply conflicted.
They had finally discovered a guaranteed money-making formula and enjoyed a few good years—was it all going to vanish just like that?
The reality, however, was that most players were still deeply immersed in Cyberpunk 2077.
Even those who weren't fully immersed would subconsciously compare newly released games to Cyberpunk 2077.
And after that comparison, the other games became almost unplayable.
Once you've tasted gourmet food, it's hard to go back to something bland.
Of course, this only lasted for a while.
Even the finest food becomes tiring if you eat it too often, and eventually people start craving burgers and cola again.
Still, some companies refused to believe it and continued releasing games over the following month.
Their results were still far from ideal—but a clear trend began to emerge.
As the release of Cyberpunk 2077 grew more distant, the sales of games released afterward gradually crept closer to their expected numbers.
Only then did these developers realize that Cyberpunk 2077's popularity still hadn't cooled down.
Only after players gradually grew tired of Cyberpunk 2077 would large numbers of them begin considering new games.
There was nothing these developers could do about it. After all, Gamestar Electronic Entertainment was simply too powerful, with no real rivals in the video game industry.
The only thing they could do was wait patiently for the hype to fade before releasing their own titles.
As a result, Mickford, Suri Electronics, and Brown Entertainment all decided to delay the release of their flagship games.
These flagship projects had massive investments behind them—any small mistake could lead to serious operational trouble for their companies.
Not every company had the same confidence and capital as Gamestar Electronic Entertainment.
…
Takayuki finished arranging the day's development plans. Several development departments were about to receive new tasks.
The Mario series was Gamestar Electronic Entertainment's ultimate trump card. Takayuki decided to release a new-generation entry in the Mario Maker line, featuring improved visuals and expanded gameplay options.
Overall, this game wasn't particularly difficult to develop. It mainly relied on players to spontaneously create the game's full form themselves—essentially a beginner version of game modding, where players only needed to focus on designing fun stages.
The power of the masses was immense. When enough people contributed their creativity, even more interesting and enjoyable content could emerge.
The Legend of Zelda was also part of the development plan. Before Takayuki crossed into this world, The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom had just revealed a rough overview of its gameplay.
Even that brief showcase alone had made the game incredibly appealing, driving countless players into a frenzy to buy it.
Although Takayuki no longer had the chance to personally play Tears of the Kingdom, recreating it in this world using a mature industrial system posed no real problem.
And Takayuki felt a small sense of pride—his version of The Legend of Zelda would at least have much better graphics. The performance limitations of the Switch that players once complained about had been completely solved in this world.
The latest handheld console had performance approaching that of a PS4 from his previous life, easily supporting 1080p resolution at 60 frames per second.
As for other game development plans, they were mostly standard sequel projects.
These included a new racing game, a new football game, and a new basketball game.
All of them had stable player bases—so long as quality didn't drop and graphics improved, sales were guaranteed.
This round of planning also included a project in cooperation with the Japanese government.
After careful consideration, Takayuki temporarily abandoned the idea of producing film-adaptation games.
He couldn't lower his standards just to satisfy government requirements by making generic, reskinned games.
If he was going to do it, it had to be something distinctive.
Speaking of distinctive ideas, there happened to be a new game genre perfectly suited for development right now.
This genre could be described as a "variety compilation" game, merging many different gameplay styles into one. The game's name would be:
Tokyo Olympics.
The name was simple and straightforward, clearly telling players that this game was made in response to the Tokyo Olympics. In the game, players would be able to experience a wide range of events typically seen in a real Olympic Games.
Takayuki planned to put real effort into this project. First, he would incorporate many of his company's well-known character IPs into the Olympics, allowing players to control famous game characters as they competed in Olympic events. The IP appeal would make the game more attractive.
Next, he would send development teams to visit Olympic teams in multiple countries, gathering firsthand information about each nation's athletes—their personalities, strengths, and weaknesses—to deliver the most authentic gameplay experience possible within reasonable limits.
Takayuki lowered his head and focused on writing the project proposal for the Olympic game, planning to release it before the Tokyo Olympics began.
A development team of one thousand people should be able to complete it within a year.
Then—
Beep. Beep.
Just as Takayuki continued working on the proposal, the phone on his desk rang.
He answered it while still writing.
"President Takayuki, this is Oki, the newly appointed station director of Tokyo Television."
"Oki?" Takayuki paused. "What about the previous one?"
"Oh, the former director has been promoted to a standing director position at the newspaper group."
"Then congratulations, Director Oki. Sorry—I've been quite busy lately and haven't been keeping up with Tokyo Television matters. Let's have a meal together sometime."
"Haha, thank you for the congratulations, President Takayuki. But I'm not calling just for that. There's something I'd like to discuss—wasn't there an animation project you collaborated on with the previous director?"
An animation… oh right—Cyberpunk: Edgerunners.
Takayuki nodded. "Yes, there was such a project. Did he hand it over to you?"
"Yes. He specifically instructed me to treat this collaboration seriously. I'm calling to report that the animation production team has informed me that the full series is already completed and can be scheduled for broadcast at any time. However, since this project isn't led by us, we can't decide on the broadcast schedule ourselves, so we wanted to report to you first."
It's finally finished!
Takayuki's eyes lit up.