"It's starting, it's starting! Three minutes left until seven o'clock—the countdown has begun!"
The man and his child watched the countdown with excitement.
This wasn't just a simple numerical countdown. As the numbers ticked down, a series of visual clips appeared alongside it.
These clips showed Japan's history with the Olympics, as well as various popular elements of the present day.
Traditional Japanese culture, anime, video games—each one was something modern Japanese citizens loved and took pride in.
Especially video games, which generated over a hundred billion dollars in market revenue overseas.
"Dad! It's Pokémon!"
"Yeah, I see it—and Dragon Quest too!"
"Huh? What's this character? I haven't seen it before."
"Oh, this one? These are anime-style characters personally drawn by Professor Itakura for all the Olympic participant countries. Every country has its own unique anime character. Pretty cool, right?"
"They're really cool! Dad, can I get merchandise of these characters?"
"Hmm… I'll check later to see if they're being sold. We should be able to find something online."
During the three-minute countdown, all kinds of clips were mixed together.
People inside the stadium could also watch the montage on the massive screens suspended above the field.
The quality of the montage was extremely high—clearly the work of a master editor.
It had been produced by the personal editor of the famous director Ono Sa. No one knew how many brain cells that editor had burned to create this content.
If he were asked to make something like this again, he would probably curse out loud.
Ono Sa had practically begged him to finish this montage.
And the result truly was excellent.
It was a history of the Olympics, a history of Japanese culture, and at the same time a series of spotlight moments for many participating countries.
Every country's visuals had been personally illustrated by the world-renowned artist Itakura.
Takayuki understood that Itakura's status in this world was roughly equivalent to Miyazaki Hayao's in his previous life—renowned for hand-drawn work. Being able to render every frame with such rich detail must have cost a great deal of money.
Of course, this portion was funded by the Japanese government, so Takayuki didn't need to worry about it.
The only thing Takayuki could think of was that these visuals strongly resembled the era when Japan's economy was soaring.
Back in the 1980s, Japan's extravagance didn't just drive its people crazy—it sent many industries into a frenzy as well.
The animation industry was one of the most representative examples.
In that era, enormous amounts of money could be poured into a single animated film, with a level of detail that would still leave people stunned even by today's standards.
Later generations would say that only that age of excess could have produced such animation.
In Takayuki's previous life, examples included Cowboy Bebop, Akira, and City Hunter.
Each had its own unique style and character, with an overwhelming level of detail in every single frame.
Later on, it became nearly impossible to replicate that kind of animation, simply because the costs were too high.
Unless, of course, you were a company as financially powerful as Gamestar Electronic Entertainment.
Not long ago, Cyberpunk: Edgerunners had been praised by many industry insiders as the most visually outstanding anime Japan had produced since the bubble burst.
If possible, Takayuki hoped that more such anime could appear in this world. Of course, he knew this was mostly wishful thinking—unless he personally decided to enter the animation industry, other companies simply wouldn't have the courage to make projects like that.
"It's truly beautiful. I haven't seen Mr. Itakura create something this outstanding in a long time."
Beside him, Hayakawa Uehito wore a nostalgic expression.
He had lived through the golden age of the anime industry as well. Back then, he had been part of the younger generation, deeply obsessed with anime and pop culture.
Later, as anime became increasingly cheap and overly capital-driven, he lost interest.
"Why don't you have Professor Itakura make an animation for Sun Knight? The IP value of Sun Knight is still quite high. If you're willing to spend more money, I'm sure Professor Itakura would be happy to do it."
"Hmm… that's actually a good suggestion. I'll look into it carefully later," Hayakawa Uehito nodded.
The flag-raising ceremony began. First, the flag of the host country, Japan, was raised. Next came the Olympic flag, followed by the flags of every participating nation.
Then came the athletes' entrance ceremony.
The first to enter was naturally the Japanese national team. The moment they stepped in, a deeply familiar melody filled the stadium.
It was the most classic BGM from Dragon Quest.
This piece of music had been the gateway into role-playing games for countless players.
Dragon Quest was also a defining memory for many people now in their thirties and forties.
The moment the melody sounded, the Japanese team entered with heads held high. Every step they took followed the rhythm, and the entire team's morale seemed to rise several levels at once.
In front of television screens, even some people who had already become fathers and mothers were moved to tears.
Because they were reminded of the emotions they had felt when they were young—when they first encountered video games as children.
"This song really is a great piece of music. Takayuki, how did you compose it back then? I've never quite understood—judging from how you look, you don't really seem like someone who specializes in this kind of music."
Hearing the melody, Hayakawa Uehito was also filled with nostalgia.
Back then, Suri Electronics had just been shocked by the sudden explosion of video games.
It was at that time that the then-president, Hayakawa Kentaro, decisively established a new department: the Video Game Division.
That was where Suri Electronics' dream began.
Among their reference models at the time was Dragon Quest.
Mario leaned more toward children—adults might be interested too, but they wouldn't stick with it for long.
But role-playing games like Dragon Quest were different. With leveling systems, equipment collection, and character growth, they gave adults a strong sense of achievement.
Later statistics showed that in Dragon Quest's early million-unit sales, more than half of the buyers were adults.
By the time Dragon Quest III was released, the proportion of adult players grew even larger. Players aged twenty to forty were twice as numerous as those in other age groups.
Faced with Hayakawa Uehito's question, Takayuki shrugged and said, "That was probably when my inspiration was at its peak. I still remember making five or six games in a single month back then. Thinking about it now, it was pretty impressive."
At moments like this, Takayuki didn't bother with false modesty.
Being too humble would only backfire. It was better to just openly admit it—yes, I'm a genius. You can just admire me. No need for extra words.
Hayakawa Uehito nodded. "Yeah, you were really ruthless back then. One person supporting the entire content lineup of a single console. At the same time, Suri Electronics assembled a team of dozens working day and night, and we could only produce one lousy game. You handled several by yourself—it was simply incomprehensible."