Judging by the course of history, Myron Case shared more than ninety percent similarity with the Steve Jobs Takayuki knew from his previous life.
He had single-handedly founded a fairly strong electronics company and released several flagship products.
He also possessed impressive foresight.
He had predicted that electronic devices would gradually trend toward miniaturization and portability, and that smartphones would have tremendous potential.
However, his life path also diverged from Jobs' in one key way.
After being forced out of Red Apple, he did not choose to start an animation company.
Instead, he stubbornly stayed on the path of making electronic products.
Perhaps this was the butterfly effect caused by Takayuki's existence.
Steve Jobs had originally been pushed out largely because of his temper and certain management decisions that the Apple board disliked.
At the time, Jobs may have felt defeated—but not devastated. After leaving, he entered another emerging tech field: 3D modeling and animation, eventually creating the world's first full-length 3D animated film, Toy Story.
Later, his animation company continued to grow, while Apple struggled due to poor management. Eventually, Jobs returned like a king, leading Apple back to glory.
It was the classic triumphant narrative.
But in this world, Myron Case had been pushed out due to business competition.
He had failed to seize the initiative in the early video game market, and his products lacked competitiveness. Shareholders judged him unfit to remain CEO and removed him.
After being expelled, Myron Case felt not so much defeated as unwilling to accept it.
He believed his path had been correct—that it was Red Apple's leadership who were short-sighted and obsessed with short-term profits.
So he resolved to prove them wrong.
That was why he founded Mickford, focusing on portable music players, smartphones, and personal computers.
In the end, he succeeded—but he missed out on experiences that Steve Jobs had gone through in Takayuki's previous life.
As a result, he never developed a deep understanding of just how much influence animation could wield.
If it had been Jobs, after watching Cyberpunk: Edgerunners, he might have foreseen the massive impact it would have—at least within the gaming industry.
But Myron Case never anticipated it.
He simply didn't have that frame of reference.
"Hey, where are you going?"
Inside Mickford's game development department, a young man was holding a document and preparing to leave when the department head stopped him.
The young man had recently become something of a rising star.
Together with a few friends, he had developed a technology capable of procedurally generating infinite worlds, giving games endless exploration potential.
However, such an infinite-world system required significant funding. A handful of young developers couldn't possibly complete it alone, so they sought Mickford's support.
Myron Case was optimistic about the project—and so was the department head.
When stopped, the young man turned around, recognized his superior, and said excitedly,"I was going to report my recent development progress to Mr. Case. With the support from the company and from you, development has been moving incredibly fast—we've already managed to produce a playable demo."
The department head felt a wave of satisfaction.
The young man had ideals, and providing an environment where such people could pursue game development made him happy.
Seeing tangible results was even better.
But…
"You should hold off on seeing the boss for now," the department head said. "He hasn't been in a good mood lately."
"Huh? Why?" the young man asked in surprise. "Haven't several good games just launched? I've played them myself—they're solid titles. Could it be… they didn't sell well?"
"They didn't," the department head replied. "And there's a reason for that. That's exactly why the boss is upset."
He remembered visiting Myron Case two days earlier—the man's expression had been dark and gloomy.
Looking at the sales numbers again today, the department head had no desire to bother him further.
At least not for a few days.
"What's the reason?" the young man asked cautiously.
"Gamestar Electronic Entertainment," the department head answered. "They used a promotional method no one had tried before, causing a game whose sales were already declining to surge again. On top of that, it completely dominated social media discussions, squeezing our games out."
There was no need to hide this from the young man—gaming media would likely report on it within a day or two anyway.
Cyberpunk 2077 had once again risen against the trend, reclaiming the top spot on the BattleNet sales rankings.
It had finally fallen out of the weekly top ten—but thanks to Cyberpunk: Edgerunners, it surged right back to number one.
Normally, the top spot on BattleNet required tens or even hundreds of thousands of copies sold.
For a game over two months old to sit there again—only Gamestar Electronic Entertainment could pull that off.
"You mean… Cyberpunk 2077?" the young man asked.
"Yes," the department head nodded. "You follow that game too, don't you?"
"Of course. It's the ceiling of the entire gaming industry right now—even though they're our competitors."
"That's exactly it," the department head said. "Because that game is selling so well, it's squeezing out our market space. The boss is frustrated, so I'd advise you to wait before approaching him."
The young man said unwillingly,"But this should be good news, right? Our project has made new progress."
"That's precisely what worries me," the department head replied. "Right now, the boss gets angry just hearing the word 'video games.' I suggest you don't go looking for trouble."
"…Alright," the young man finally conceded. "I'll listen to you."
The two then chatted casually about Cyberpunk 2077.
Even as Mickford's game department head, he openly acknowledged how impressive the rival's game was.
Calling Cyberpunk 2077 the current ceiling of video games was beyond dispute.
From a developer's perspective, he wanted to analyze it—to learn what could be applied to their own projects.
The two seriously discussed its strengths for quite some time, considering what lessons could be drawn.
During the conversation, the young man voiced another concern.
"Do you think the boss might reduce our department's funding because of this setback?"
He was clearly worried about whether investment into his game would be cut. The random world system alone required at least ten to twenty million dollars.
It relied on procedural generation research, which wasn't cheap.
"Don't worry," the department head reassured him. "This loss was an unexpected incident. It just disrupted some of the boss's plans—he won't cut investment over this."
Myron Case wasn't short-sighted. He understood that this incident had nothing to do with their game's quality.
"That's good to hear," the young man said, finally relaxing.