Because Takayuki was personally serving as a judge, this year's game developers' competition was noticeably livelier than before.
Many developers had come specifically for Takayuki. They all wanted to meet him in person and bring up the questions they'd long had about game development, hoping that this game god and industry legend could give them answers.
But before that, they at least had to register as official participants in the competition.
As a result, the scale of this year's event suddenly increased fivefold.
In the past, the average number of participants in such competitions was only two to three hundred at most.
With an average of four people per team developing a game, that meant around sixty to seventy teams competing for the championship.
This time, however, the number of participants surged to over a thousand, making the entire venue feel crowded.
Fortunately, this kind of competition didn't require providing standardized equipment—every developer brought their own familiar computers to compete.
Otherwise, just preparing the hardware would have been a massive expense.
With over a thousand people, the number of participating teams reached around three to four hundred.
Some were true indie game developers.
Others were developers from large companies who were unwilling to remain stuck making assembly-line games.
Seated at the judges' table, Takayuki quietly observed everything.
These people were all very young—most of them around twenty-five or twenty-six years old.
Occasionally, a few elderly enthusiasts who loved games would appear, but overall, young people dominated the crowd.
And now, Takayuki himself was no longer young.
In his previous life, he'd collapsed under the pressure of 996 work culture in his early thirties, carrying roughly thirty years of life experience.
When he transmigrated to this world, his physical age had been just over twenty.
And now, he had already lived in this world for a full twenty-six years.
If one were to add it all up, he was actually close to sixty years old.
Perhaps because of that, his mindset had become extremely calm. Only when he encountered games he truly loved did he still feel a spark of joy.
Now, seeing so many energetic young people full of hope and anticipation, passionately developing games, he felt as if he himself had become a bit younger.
Time really did fly.
As Takayuki reflected on this, the game developers' competition was officially announced to begin.
This year's competition was divided into different game categories, which was a great benefit to developers of various specializations. They could focus more deeply on a single category without being easily distracted.
At the same time, there were also potential geniuses here—people unwilling to confine themselves to a single genre, determined to develop what they believed to be the best possible game.
A game developers' competition like this wasn't simply about holding a contest.
Otherwise, everyone's games might become overly wild and unfocused.
That was why a bit of limitation—or rather, a clear goal—was necessary.
One could also say it was about providing a general direction.
So every year, there was a theme for game development.
That theme could be a specific game genre, or simply a single word.
As long as the game you created aligned with that word, it qualified for the competition.
This year's theme had been chosen by Takayuki himself.
Its name was: Wings.
When Takayuki chose this word, he hadn't thought too deeply about it—it simply represented a leap toward dreams, a chance to fly.
And so, the game developers' competition officially kicked off.
…
"Wow, I really didn't expect this—the atmosphere here is amazing. None of the previous competitions felt this lively."
At one seat in the venue, a young man with an afro kept both hands on his keyboard, yet still found time to glance around, checking what everyone else was doing.
He seemed capable of multitasking—code continued to pour out rapidly on his screen, while his awareness of the surroundings never faltered.
"Hey, let's hurry up and finish development, then get out of here," urged another young man sitting at the same table, sounding anxious. "If the boss finds out we came to this competition instead of properly working on the infinite-world project, he'll probably dock our pay."
There were two other young men at the table as well.
The four of them were a team.
They all came from the United States.
Not long ago, they had successfully landed jobs at a large game company, finally securing stable and relatively safe employment.
At the same time, they were still able to pursue what they loved.
The infinite-world game they were working so hard on was their ultimate goal.
It was a game that truly featured an infinite world.
A world filled with countless environments and terrains, where players could roam endlessly without ever reaching an end.
With open-world games being so popular right now, these young people were proud to believe that their game would definitely be a massive hit.
However, the game hadn't been released yet, because several technical challenges still hadn't been fully resolved.
Coming to London today was actually a mistake—they should have stayed back at the company, working hard to meet their boss's expectations and complete the infinite world as soon as possible.
But the afro-haired young man was the leader of the four.
He was the one who had first proposed the infinite-world concept, and he also possessed considerable talent in game development.
More importantly, he loved lively environments.
Especially a setting like this, where countless game developers gathered together—he absolutely loved it.
So even though he never won any prizes in these competitions, he was still willing to participate every time.
It sounded a bit strange.
Having talent in game development, yet never placing in a competition—that wasn't normal.
But the afro-haired young man didn't care.
He simply enjoyed the present moment.
"Relax. My game will definitely be one of the fastest to finish," he said casually, continuing to glance around while his fingers never stopped typing. "Once we're done, we'll hang around a bit and then head back."
From time to time, he turned his head to check his code, occasionally making adjustments.
Having talent didn't mean cheating—basic checks and revisions were still necessary in game development.
Even so, his performance was already impressive enough.
The competition's development phase had a strict forty-eight-hour time limit.
Within that time, participants had to create the best game they could.
Go over the limit, and they'd lose points—or even be disqualified.