It seemed the aftershock of the animation really was powerful.
Originally, Cyberpunk 2077 had begun to fade from public attention as time went on.
But the sudden release of Cyberpunk: Edgerunners unexpectedly gave Cyberpunk 2077 a second wind—almost like a revival from the brink of death.
Later on, some players even joked that the game developers should kneel and thank the animation studio—without the anime, the game might have gone completely cold already.
In this world, that aftershock was even stronger.
The game itself was already of extremely high quality, and the anime was just as excellent. Both players and viewers received overwhelmingly positive feedback.
And how did that reflect in sales?
It meant that just as sales were entering a soft decline, the moment Cyberpunk: Edgerunners aired, daily sales surged back to the million-unit level.
And judging by today's momentum, it was still going strong.
According to the BattleNet platform's statistics, as of just minutes before the meeting, Cyberpunk 2077 had already sold more than 400,000 copies today alone.
Over the past two months, after its initial explosive launch—breaking ten million copies sold on the second day, reaching fifteen million within a week—sales rapidly slowed.
Yet within two months, it still managed to surpass twenty million copies sold.
This made it the fastest-rising game in terms of sales in the history of the industry.
Previously, any game that entered the ten-million-sales club within a year was already considered a masterpiece.
But this—twenty million copies in two months—could no longer be described as merely a masterpiece. It was a work that had earned universal recognition.
And now, over these past two days, sales were climbing rapidly once again—an astonishing sight.
"President, I can even optimistically estimate that the game might break thirty million copies within this month. That would be a historic achievement!" someone exclaimed.
On the video screen, Matsuhashi Minoru shook her head.
"That won't happen. The size of the player base is what it is. Twenty million sales have already covered nearly all core players. This sales spike is bringing in some non-core users, but they can't compare to core players. At least at full price, there won't be that many of them."
Takayuki nodded.
"Matsuhashi is right. Core players are our foundation. We're still trying to expand that base, but it's a slow process. Most potential players are either price-sensitive or simply not interested—unless…"
He paused, then smiled.
"…we run a discount."
A discount?
Everyone chuckled.
That was impossible—at least not now.
With sales this strong at full price, discounting the game would be completely unnecessary and inappropriate.
"Of course, I'm just joking," Takayuki added. "Discounting now would hurt the players who bought at full price. Those full-price buyers are our greatest asset. We can't afford to be short-sighted."
"Understood," Yukio Kiuchida said as he sat back down.
He had been momentarily swept away by the sudden rebound in Cyberpunk 2077's sales.
Sales were indeed the most visible indicator of a game's value—but they couldn't be the only measure.
"Don't worry," Takayuki continued. "This game's lifespan will be far longer than you expect. We can take the long view and slowly enrich its content. We've only just begun mining the treasure that is Cyberpunk."
In Takayuki's vision, Cyberpunk 2077 would eventually have an online mode—one that could take inspiration from Grand Theft Auto Online, widely regarded as the best balance between a buy-to-play game and live online content.
Then there would be expansions, story DLCs, and additional playable identities.
With AI-assisted development at Gamestar Electronic Entertainment, and with Cyberpunk 2077's solid framework already in place, creating future expansions and role-based content wouldn't be difficult.
A DLC comparable in scale to a full AAA game might only cost thirty to fifty million dollars to develop.
Selling it later for around thirty dollars would generate substantial additional revenue.
The development teams he had were all seasoned professionals—he had complete confidence in them.
With the framework already established, producing subpar content would be inexcusable.
After that, Takayuki asked about the progress of several other projects.
Sequels to classic franchises.
A new Metal Gear installment, the next Forza title, a new Uncharted, and so on.
Each of these games had an extremely loyal fanbase. As long as they were released, they were almost guaranteed not to lose money—so there was no reason not to make them.
Even if they lost a bit, it wouldn't matter much.
It could be treated as training for new developers, helping them quickly gain experience and build talent reserves for future major projects.
The game Takayuki cared about most, however, was the latest Grand Theft Auto.
This entry would revisit the most classic format—three playable protagonists living in the chaos of Los Santos.
Part of the Cyberpunk 2077 team was also supporting this project.
With their experience, developing a new GTA was practically second nature. Even the most complex technical challenges were no longer difficult.
After all progress reports were finished, Takayuki reviewed projected release timelines.
Everything was still on schedule, meaning the company could continue moving forward steadily.
Then Takayuki turned his attention to a newly formed department—a temporary one.
Its head was a director Takayuki had personally recruited, someone well-known worldwide for orchestrating large-scale opening ceremonies: Ono Sano.
"Mr. Ono, do you have time now to report on the Olympic project?" Takayuki asked.
"Yes, Mr. Takayuki. I've prepared the materials. I didn't want to interrupt earlier, so I'll give a brief report now."
Ono Sano opened a document and began reading.
"After multiple rounds of discussions with the Japanese government, they've finally agreed to our terms. They're willing to collaborate with us on an Olympic opening ceremony that integrates video games, traditional Japanese culture, and the anime industry.
Several directors—including myself—will jointly serve as chief planners. I'll be assisting the Olympic Opening Ceremony Committee in designing the gaming segment."
At last.
Takayuki thought to himself.
Finally, it had begun.