After Gamestar Electronic Entertainment publicly announced its support, the young development team quickly found that the waves of abuse and accusations died down significantly. Their short-term goal had been achieved. What came next—and what truly mattered—was financial backing and technical support.
That was what would help the team the most.
Takayuki even invited them to come to Japan, encouraging them to settle down and focus entirely on development. He offered to assemble a support team of one hundred people for them, with more than half having over ten years of game development experience—battle-hardened veterans, every single one.
When the young developer heard this, he was deeply moved. Compared to how Mikfo had treated them, it only reinforced the feeling that choosing Mikfo in the first place had been the biggest mistake of his life.
Thankfully, there was still room to turn things around.
He decisively accepted Takayuki's invitation and brought his team to Japan. Takayuki even lent them the small building where he had first founded his company in Tokyo, telling them to focus solely on making games and not worry about anything else. He left them with a single line:
Time will prove everything—but first, you must prove yourselves to me.
Next came plans for Infinite World after its six-month exclusivity period ended. The game would be released on Battle.net, timed perfectly with the completion of its online multiplayer update—serving as a kind of ceremonial debut on the new platform.
With the Infinite World team situation resolved, Gamestar Electronic Entertainment announced yet another piece of news. That team, after all, was only a small interlude. Gamestar had far bigger projects in the pipeline.
The most important among them was the long-awaited Cyberpunk 2077 Online Mode, which was officially released.
In this online mode, players could host their own servers and install player-created mods. Combined with mod support, the already content-packed game became even more playable. With enough creativity, players could even use in-game assets to build an entirely new Night City, allowing others to explore and adventure within it.
This update caused Cyberpunk 2077's sales to surge once again.
The game had already been firmly entrenched in the top ten bestsellers on Battle.net across all platforms for years. Every update brought a modest bump in sales—but the launch of online mode sent it straight back to the number one spot.
Gamestar never publicly disclosed sales figures, but industry estimates suggested Cyberpunk 2077 had sold at least fifty million copies—and that was a conservative figure. The real number was likely even more staggering.
Players occasionally joked online, asking who on earth hadn't bought Cyberpunk 2077 yet—and wondered how a game released so long ago could still dominate the bestseller charts.
Other game companies could only look on with envy.
Ninety-nine percent of companies simply couldn't make a game like this. The sheer budget alone was beyond most studios, not to mention the extremely long development cycle—five to six years from conception to release, with a team of over two thousand developers.
Sury Electronics might technically be capable of it, but it made little sense from their perspective. With the same time, money, and manpower, they could produce far more "safe" titles or cash-grab games and earn more profit. They had no interest in a high-risk project like Cyberpunk 2077.
Yet the returns from Cyberpunk 2077 weren't limited to game sales alone.
Novels, comics, animation adaptations, and other derivative works sold extremely well. The game had already been officially recognized as one of the world's top 100 IPs, with its influence and ranking still climbing. The IP alone was valued at over two billion dollars—and that valuation continued to rise.
This was the hidden power of a truly high-quality game.
Within Gamestar, internal evaluations had already been completed, and rumors leaked that a Cyberpunk 2077 sequel was in development, along with a related online game—though details about its gameplay remained unclear.
Players were naturally thrilled. They wanted more Cyberpunk 2077 in any form. Cyberpunk culture was at its peak.
As for the online mode itself, on the very day of release, global concurrent players surpassed one million.
The game also included optional in-game currency purchases, allowing players to unlock richer content and live what felt like a second life in Night City.
Of course, not everyone liked Cyberpunk 2077. But no player dared to say they disliked Gamestar Electronic Entertainment's games as a whole.
Among Gamestar's products, there was always at least one game you'd fall in love with.
Beyond Cyberpunk 2077's renewed popularity, players were eagerly awaiting three other major titles:
The RPG fans' dream: Final Fantasy XIII Versus
The pinnacle of stealth games: Metal Gear Solid V: The Final Chapter
An open-world giant rivaling Cyberpunk 2077: Grand Theft Auto V
Each catered to a different audience. Gamestar carefully paced their marketing for all three, leaving players restless with anticipation—so much so that other games just didn't feel as appealing anymore.
In addition to all that, Takayuki had a personal side project progressing quietly: The Binding of Isaac, a game he was developing independently to promote and showcase the crowdfunding ecosystem.
He'd been busy with other matters and had set it aside until his assistant reminded him to check on it. When he finally looked at the crowdfunding page again, he was genuinely startled.
The project had raised over fifty million dollars.
Takayuki couldn't help but exclaim that this was essentially the equivalent of selling a million copies before the game was even finished.
The Binding of Isaac firmly held the top spot on Battle.net's crowdfunding page.
The second-place project had done well too, raising over a million dollars—but compared to Gamestar's project, it wasn't even close.
Takayuki glanced at the comments section and found it filled with players urging him to hurry up and release the game.
Since the short demo released earlier, he hadn't paid much attention to it. In truth, the main game was already nearly complete. With the powerful Unreal Engine at his disposal, developing it was as easy as drinking water.
The reason he hadn't released it immediately was deliberate. He wanted to set an example—to show developers that with a good idea and solid concept, it was possible to secure funding right from the start.
Thanks to The Binding of Isaac leading the way, more and more indie developers began posting projects in the crowdfunding section. Some were even well-known designers from major studios, hoping to release ideas that had been rejected internally.
Projects dismissed as "bad ideas" by big companies often received unexpectedly strong support from players once posted publicly—drawing tens of thousands of backers and giving passionate creators a stage to shine.