"Why is there another new game being released again? I remember that Gamestar Electronic Entertainment's recent development cycles have all been quite long—usually at least one or two years before anything bears fruit. Could you be talking about that Olympics game?"
Myron Kess had grown extremely wary of Gamestar Electronic Entertainment.
Any hint of movement, no matter how small, needed to be reported to him immediately.
He even kept track of the release timelines of Gamestar Electronic Entertainment's games down to the dates.
Grand Theft Auto was expected to show results in about a year.
A new Final Fantasy entry would likely take two years.
Super Mario and The Legend of Zelda were also looking at roughly two years.
The only game slated for near-term release—and personally supervised by Takayuki—was the 2020 Olympics project.
But according to investigations, that game was a collaborative effort and not a core Gamestar Electronic Entertainment project. It was essentially a promotional product made to help Japan publicize the Olympics.
That type of game was just a novelty—unlikely to make a big splash.
"No, it's not that," the department head said. "It's a game personally made by Takayuki himself. A demo has already been released in the indie game crowdfunding section."
"An indie game? Made by Takayuki?"Myron Kess frowned. "Why would he do that?"
This was genuinely news to him. After all, this wasn't an official Gamestar Electronic Entertainment project—it was Takayuki acting on his own. There wasn't even a publisher attached.
"His goal is to further expand the influence of indie games and help grow the indie game scene."
"So that means this game is mostly just a side project, right?"
Myron Kess let out a sigh of relief.
An indie game, after all—probably nothing to worry about.
What a false alarm. Takayuki really was an unpredictable guy, always springing surprises on people.
The game department head continued, "It may indeed be more of a passion project, but I've played it. It's actually quite interesting."
"That's fine, then. An indie game won't affect our overall strategy."
Myron Kess didn't give it much thought.
He knew about indie games—by nature, they were niche.
Up to now, he hadn't seen a single indie game that truly exploded into a mainstream trend.
Wait…
Actually, there had been one.
He suddenly remembered a game called Stardew Valley.
Its creator was highly mysterious, a big name within the indie scene. But in recent years, that developer seemed to have gone quiet and stopped making games.
That title's sales had surpassed ten million units—it was the first time people truly witnessed the potential of indie games.
No… that shouldn't happen again.
That kind of indie success was lightning in a bottle.
His subordinates had told him that the creator of Stardew Valley was a once-in-a-generation genius in the indie scene. Ideas like that usually came from sudden inspiration, and even the creator himself would struggle to recreate that level of success.
After all, hadn't that same developer later chosen to collaborate with others to make Dead Cells?
That alone proved how hard it was to strike gold alone.
"Alright, I understand the situation," Myron Kess said. "You can continue releasing games according to your schedule. The company will provide you with maximum support."
Since the boss had spoken, there was nothing more the subordinate could say.
And honestly, he also felt that a single indie game wouldn't have much impact.
There was no need to alter the company's overall strategy for it.
Over the past month or two, Mikfo had lined up a number of major game releases.
They planned to capitalize on the window when other major companies weren't making big moves.
Mikfo did have a name in the gaming industry, but it wasn't top-tier. Their strategy was to make money when the top companies were between releases.
Infinite World had already proven that this approach worked.
…
Murakami Kazuo, meanwhile, felt completely hooked.
Even though he had already played The Binding of Isaac demo to death—thoroughly experiencing almost everything it had to offer—he still felt unsatisfied.
The game's equipment system was exceptionally well done, and the difficulty of each stage felt just right—not too easy, not too hard. As long as you played a bit seriously, you could quickly gain a strong sense of achievement early on.
Even when he wasn't playing, he found himself thinking about equipment builds and strategies, eager to test them the next time he picked up the game.
At that moment, time felt unbearably slow.
How could a month possibly feel this long?
If only release day could come sooner.
Many others felt the same way as Murakami Kazuo.
After all, this was an indie game that had raised over ten million dollars through crowdfunding. That meant at least a million players had effectively pre-ordered it, all waiting for its official release.
One month wasn't actually that long—but for players eagerly anticipating the game, it was pure torture.
They counted the days, waiting for launch.
Thanks to Takayuki's reputation, The Binding of Isaac enjoyed far greater influence right from the start than the original version ever had.
Not just regular players—even most indie game developers had pre-purchased it.
This was a solo indie game personally made by Takayuki himself.
That alone made it a benchmark.
If it achieved extraordinary success, it would prove that indie games still had immense potential.
Hayakawa Ueto of Suri Electronics also noticed Takayuki's recent activities. Unlike Myron Kess, he didn't find them puzzling.
Perhaps because of their two-decade-long relationship as both rivals and allies, he understood Takayuki very well.
Everything Takayuki did had meaning and purpose.
Even if it was "just" a solo indie game, it could never be underestimated.
As a result, Hayakawa Ueto specifically instructed his game teams not to invest heavily in marketing in the near future, nor to release any major titles—so as to avoid colliding with Takayuki's release.
At the same time, he arranged for the team to obtain the full version of The Binding of Isaac the moment it launched. He planned to experience it together with them, to see what insights could be gained.
And so, one month later, on the day The Binding of Isaac officially released, Hayakawa Ueto stayed up late with his subordinates, waiting for the game to unlock so they could play it immediately.
Watching the clock inch closer to midnight, Hayakawa Ueto glanced at the employees beside him.
"By the way," he said, "I remember this game has a demo. Did any of you play it?"