"Pokémon GO has been out for a month now. Global registered users have already reached 300 million. At this rate, it's very likely that within the next six months, global registrations could reach one billion."
"That's a bit too optimistic, isn't it? No matter how you look at it, this game doesn't seem like the kind that would become a true blockbuster."
"Then you're seriously underestimating the influence of the Pokémon IP. You still haven't realized just how much untapped potential this franchise has."
"Reaching one billion users within six months is actually the most conservative estimate. If we're a bit more optimistic, even 1.5 billion global registered users isn't impossible."
Inside Gamestar Electronic Entertainment's conference room, a high-level management meeting was underway.
Takayuki mainly listened. He didn't involve himself deeply in the company's day-to-day business operations, only paying closer attention when topics related to games came up.
Professional matters were best left to professionals. He wasn't particularly skilled at business management, and forcing himself into it could easily do more harm than good.
That said, Pokémon GO was something he paid special attention to.
Over the past month, Pokémon GO's popularity had shown no signs of slowing down.
About a week after Pokémon GO launched on the Facebook phone platform, Gamestar Electronic Entertainment announced that the game would be released on more mobile smart platforms.
That list even included Mikfow's smartphones.
Takayuki's goal for this game was to reach as wide an audience as possible, so even launching it on a competitor's platform was perfectly acceptable.
The game itself was free—anyone could download and play it.
This move earned Gamestar Electronic Entertainment another massive wave of goodwill from players.
Gamestar really was generous and open-minded—willing to release its games even on competitor platforms.
That was the kind of vision expected from the "godfather of video games."
As a result, player approval surged even further, to the point where praise nearly flooded social media.
And naturally, Pokémon GO's download numbers skyrocketed in response.
Mikfow's smartphones had around 100 million active users globally—a staggering figure in its own right.
Once Pokémon GO launched on Mikfow's platform, downloads shot straight toward 30 million.
And that number was still climbing rapidly.
At first, Mikfow had wanted to reject Gamestar's application to bring Pokémon GO onto their platform.
The executive in charge of platform operations was somewhat petty, and without CEO Myron Kess personally giving the order, he didn't dare approve Gamestar's game.
But shortly afterward, Myron Kess himself issued a direct command to approve Gamestar Electronic Entertainment's application.
And it was approved with green lights all the way—no obstacles whatsoever.
Just days after Gamestar announced Pokémon GO would be available on more platforms, Pokémon GO appeared on Mikfow's smartphone store.
Takayuki couldn't help but sigh in admiration—Myron Kess really did have impressive breadth of vision.
Competition didn't prevent cooperation.
Among major corporations, competition and cooperation often existed side by side—that was the norm.
Especially for giant companies, whose systems were so deeply intertwined that no one could truly stand alone.
Three hundred million users…
Takayuki looked at the number with a slightly strange expression.
So he'd achieved a "three hundred million Pokémon dream" now?
Kind of like the "three hundred million shooter dream" from his previous life?
But he knew Pokémon GO was capable of far more than this.
In his previous life, Pokémon GO had still managed to stay in the global top ten mobile game revenue rankings even four years after release.
Even at tenth place, that was proof enough of how powerful its appeal was.
And in this world, Takayuki had deliberately added even more improvements and enhancements.
Stronger exploration and collection mechanics.
Stronger combat and social features.
With all aspects enhanced, the game's overall playability had increased dramatically.
"President, I think we should list this game as a key project. Its popularity right now is really high. We can still do more—like improving the graphics," Matsuhashi Minori suggested from the side.
As head of marketing, she was the most sensitive to profit maximization.
Many players on the market were complaining that the game's graphics were subpar.
The experience felt like playing an ancient ping-pong game in a modern era.
Not exactly bad—but definitely not immersive.
Player expectations had already been raised very high.
"Improving graphics isn't a problem," Takayuki said. "But we also have to consider users who are still using average-performance phones. We can arrange different graphics settings or versions."
"President, leave that to me," Kitada Hitomi from the Third Development Department volunteered, standing up. "We don't have any particularly complex projects at the moment."
For them, a game like this was honestly quite simple.
But Kitada Hitomi had another idea.
He wanted to use this project to train new recruits within the department, taking it slow and steady.
Gamestar Electronic Entertainment's scale had been expanding rapidly.
The company now had nearly 20,000 employees worldwide.
By any standard, that already qualified as a top-tier giant corporation.
Most tech and internet companies didn't have nearly that many employees—only manufacturing giants typically did.
Yet Gamestar's upper management still felt it wasn't enough.
Gamestar Electronic Entertainment had an enormous number of major franchises.
Any one of those franchises, placed in another company, would be an explosive, industry-defining hit.
There was no way such a vast lineup of masterpieces could be handled by the current workforce alone.
More manpower was inevitable.
"Then I'll leave it to you," Takayuki said. "But remember—stability comes first. Don't blindly raise graphics and performance requirements."
"Don't worry, President. I'm very confident in this area."
Kitada Hitomi might not boast about much, but when it came to game code and technical details, his team was exceptionally strong.
Cyberpunk 2077's world was huge—massive, even—and packed with countless small interior spaces.
Those buildings felt so real because they were built line by line with painstaking code.
Before Cyberpunk 2077, no company had dared to do something so extreme.
Only Gamestar Electronic Entertainment had.
Kitada Hitomi's contributions were immense.
Takayuki trusted him. Since he had agreed, Takayuki didn't say more and instead moved on to the next topic.
"So—how's the progress on the theme park construction?"