The second half of 2020 was the period when several game companies began to unleash their strength.
They all set their sights on the usual holidays—Christmas, Halloween—hoping to reveal their best titles at that time and cash in on the season.
But this year was a little different from the previous year or two. This year had a few colossal beasts that could only be looked up to.
First came Final Fantasy XIII Versus as the vanguard, followed closely by Metal Gear Solid 5 and Grand Theft Auto 5.
Some companies still refused to accept that—and planned to compete through differentiation.
Final Fantasy XIII Versus was an RPG. Metal Gear Solid 5 was a stealth, third-person shooter story game. Grand Theft Auto 5 was the culmination of open-world design.
What was missing from that lineup?
Sports games.
Maybe because Gamestar Electronic Entertainment's focus this year was on those few blockbusters, they hadn't released the latest annualized soccer or basketball sports titles.
That gave other publishers a chance.
Still, they all understood: in the "frontline battlefield," Gamestar's ace titles would dominate, and only in niche areas would other companies have room to break out.
So, almost as if by silent agreement, they chose not to fight Gamestar head-on. Even Mikfo—Gamestar's long-time rival—decided to avoid the clash for now.
And so, Final Fantasy XIII Versus, the advance force, stormed into the November market in the second half of the year with practically no opponents.
"Man… the internet really is something you love and hate."
In the United States, at a Gamestar Electronic Entertainment specialty counter, a clerk rested his chin on his hand, bored.
With the explosive growth of the internet, online shopping had become the most common way people bought things.
And physical stores were steadily losing their market.
Even in the U.S., where plenty of people still faithfully drove out to shop in person.
Across the ocean, online shopping had already entered every household—even seventy- and eighty-year-old grandparents could skillfully use shopping apps to buy what they wanted.
And the merchandise at Gamestar's specialty counters had changed a lot compared to a decade ago.
Physical game cartridges now occupied only a small portion.
If a customer wanted to buy a game, they could browse on an in-store terminal, then a staff member would fetch the item from the back.
What stood out most in the counter area now were roughly these things:
A demo area where players could try the latest game demos
Uniquely designed limited items—statues, limited-edition controllers, limited consoles, and so on
A lottery section and capsule-toy machines
"Uncle, you look so nostalgic. Was the past really that great?"
A young employee—not yet twenty—leaned against the counter, chewing gum, and asked.
The "uncle" he referred to was an adult in his forties.
Hearing that, the uncle immediately replied with pride, "Of course it was. Back then, whenever a great game launched, the line outside this store would stretch forever. And when that happened, everyone in the store would be busy for a full day and night—barely any rest."
"Huh? Barely any rest? That sounds miserable."
"You don't understand."
The "uncle" shook his head. "That was the most thrilling era of video games. I felt like every day was Christmas. New, interesting games came out constantly, the store was always packed, and we clerks were gamers too. Seeing those players buy the game they'd been dying for—with our own hands handing it to them—felt genuinely happy. Even if the work was tiring, it was still satisfying."
The young guy thought seriously, then shook his head. "I still can't imagine it. That's too exhausting. If my job were like that, I'd quit."
The uncle said, "We won't see that kind of glory anymore. Online shopping has taken over most people's lives. You can tell just by the amount of stock HQ sends us—those days are gone. Sometimes I wonder… as time goes on, will there even be a need for work like mine?"
His mood sank again.
He'd stayed at this store because he loved video games.
But he had a feeling that offline sales like this would eventually be phased out.
This was where he'd worked for more than twenty years. Thinking back to when he first applied to be a clerk here—over two decades ago—he couldn't help but feel emotional.
The young employee clearly didn't care much about "maybe losing a job."
"Alright, enough of that. Focus on work. Today should be a special day—perk up."
"Huh? Special day? What's special?"
"The release day for Final Fantasy XIII Versus."
As the uncle said it, his eyes practically shone—clearly he'd recalled something from the old days.
"Oh yeah, I know that game. I was gonna try it too. But we're kind of stingy, aren't we—making people wait until official release time to sell it. I heard some third-party shops quietly sell early and make a killing."
The uncle said seriously, "That's unethical. It's a leak—an early sell. And we're an official store. We absolutely can't be part of that."
"Yeah, yeah, okay."
The young guy muttered under his breath, and soon it was release time for Final Fantasy XIII Versus.
Customers started drifting into the store.
The uncle immediately stepped forward warmly to help them.
The young employee, meanwhile, slacked off on the side, blowing bubbles and watching the uncle pitch the new game.
"Buying the latest Final Fantasy XIII Versus? Coming here is absolutely your best choice. Would you like the limited edition, or the standard boxed version?"
"One limited set and one standard boxed copy—great. I'll pack those up right now. Oh, and if you buy the limited edition here, you'll also get an exclusive bonus: a Final Fantasy collectible coin. We hope you'll visit our store more often. This is a paradise for gamers—we faithfully serve every single player!"
The young clerk watched like it was a show.
The customers were into it, too.
But the young guy found it kind of pointless.
Buying something should just be one person buys, one person sells—why "emotionally connect" with customers?
This uncle clearly didn't see himself as merely a clerk. He also considered himself a gamer, and he genuinely enjoyed sharing his thoughts on games.
"Welcome back anytime. Our store will serve you with sincerity."
The uncle waved enthusiastically to send off the satisfied customers, then returned to the young clerk.
"Hey, Uncle—looks like not many people will drive all the way out to buy games in person today. How about we just close up? You want to play the new Final Fantasy, I want to play it too. Managing this store won't fall apart because we took one day off."
The uncle shook his head. "No. That's unethical. I'm a gamer, yes. I love games, and I desperately want to play Final Fantasy XIII Versus right now. But I also have my calling: I'm a store clerk."
The young clerk was speechless. He really couldn't accept that traditional mindset.
They were guarding the store, and almost no one would come all day—so why not leave early and go play?
No one would know. He'd even heard plenty of Gamestar retail employees did similar things.
As Gamestar grew bigger, management was bound to face more tests.
And there were many people who thought like the young clerk—people who didn't care much about work and just wanted to make life as easy as possible.
But the uncle said, "No. I still hope that any player who wants this game can get it today. Have you considered that if we close, some players might not be able to play it on day one?"
"Uh… fine."
The uncle didn't keep arguing.
As he aged, he understood there was a generation gap. Their hobbies might overlap, but their values were totally different.
Because he loved games, he wanted to share that joy with more people. He wasn't satisfied enjoying games alone.
Sharing was part of the fun, too.
A few minutes later, more customers came in. The uncle welcomed them as warmly as ever, handed over the games with both hands, thanked them sincerely for their purchase, and invited them to come again.
The customers happily agreed—and even exchanged contact info with him, hoping to talk about games together in the future.
On the side, the young clerk hesitated, wanting to say something.
He didn't agree with a lot of the uncle's ideas.
But seeing the uncle make friends so easily and set up plans to game together… he couldn't help feeling a strange envy.
"Alright. If you're bored, you can head home and play Final Fantasy first. Tomorrow, tell me what it's like."
The uncle could tell the young guy's mind wasn't here anymore, so he simply let him go.
The young clerk hesitated.
He really wanted to go home and play Final Fantasy right now.
He'd only taken this low-paying job because he liked games and couldn't find other work—and because working here meant he could access the newest games first.
If it weren't a game shop, he wouldn't care about the salary at all.
"Go on. Tomorrow, share the fun with me."
The uncle urged him.
He could handle the store alone.
The internet created many new jobs—but it also quietly erased many old ones.
Rumors said Gamestar might shut down some stores. Shops like theirs—outside major downtown areas—would likely be cut first.
For this clerk who had worked here over twenty years, it would be a lie to say it didn't hurt.
The pay wasn't much, but it was enough. It was close to home. And it was something he loved.
He was satisfied.
Once he learned the store might not last much longer, he cherished every day here even more. He'd grown deeply attached to this place.
He'd had the chance to become a store manager—after all, he'd worked more than twenty years. Even if this store closed, he could probably transfer elsewhere as a manager.
But he preferred being a clerk.
So he'd stayed a clerk for more than twenty years.
Day after day for two decades—he could even tell you exactly how many cracks were in the wall.
"Then… I'm going? Uncle, you won't dock my pay, right?"
The uncle laughed heartily. "You might not know this, but Gamestar stores have always had a perk: every employee gets one 'game vacation' each year. Even though you just started, you still get it. Paid leave to go home and play games—that's the best part of working here."
The young man's eyes lit up. He hadn't known that at all, and now he felt even more justified.
So he happily took a boxed physical Final Fantasy cartridge, said goodbye to the uncle, and drove off.
The uncle watched him go from the doorway, then returned inside.
A few minutes later, someone else walked in to ask about the newest games. The uncle continued faithfully doing his duty—doing his absolute best to answer every customer's questions and recommend the most suitable games for them.
Time passed quickly into the afternoon. He served customers one by one, scattered through the day, never letting his enthusiasm fade.
In his contact list, ninety percent of his entries were phone numbers from customers.
That, too, was a precious kind of wealth.
By around seven in the evening, after the day's slow trickle of customers, the uncle checked his watch.
Normally, he would have closed by now.
But today was special, so he decided to wait a little longer.
What if someone still wanted to buy the game? Missing the day-one launch would be such a shame.
So he waited… and waited… until after eight. By then, no one had come in.
He figured no one would.
But just looking at the store, he still couldn't bear to go home.
He wanted to play the newest Final Fantasy—but he also treasured this store.
"Uncle! Uncle!"
In a daze, he thought he heard someone calling him. He quickly put on his warmest smile and looked toward the entrance.
"Hello—how can I… huh? You all are…"
He was about to greet the next customer, but then realized it was more than a dozen players—customers and friends he'd met this morning and over the last few days.
"Hehe, Uncle—didn't you say games are only fun when you share? So here we are. This morning we saw you alone in the shop and it felt kind of lonely, so we came. Want to play Final Fantasy together?"
The uncle blinked. "You guys…"
"I'm guessing Gamestar won't mind us customers using a bit of the store's electricity, right?"
"Of course they won't mind. Gamestar isn't that stingy."
The uncle smiled again, brighter this time. "Welcome, everyone. Come in—play as long as you like."
For a moment, he felt like he'd returned to the golden age of video games—back when clerks stayed up all night serving players.
Tiring, yes.
But satisfying, all the same.
And now, it was the same again.