The story of Metal Gear 5 came to a temporary end, and Gamestar Electronic Entertainment didn't claim the series was ending forever.
It was simply that players' interest in this type of game had declined, and fewer people were buying and playing it.
Mainly because fewer people were playing—without new blood coming in, even great games would eventually reach an ending.
But Takayuki knew trends were cyclical. Once a trend developed to a certain point, things that were popular in the past would return and shine again.
Just like retro trends in his previous life—so long as something is good, sooner or later it would bloom again.
And the end of the Metal Gear series didn't mean this kind of game would disappear.
In Metal Gear, they gave the protagonist Snake a fairly satisfying temporary conclusion.
Because it was only a temporary conclusion, many players who had previously been uninterested suddenly wanted to try it—partly because everyone said it was the world's number one stealth game.
At the same time, there were still people unwilling to give up. They wanted to make stealth games with depth and meaning like Metal Gear.
But in the short term, this genre definitely wouldn't see big investments again.
At most, it would get budgets in the tens of millions of dollars—enough to break even or make a small profit. That was basically the reality of stealth games now.
Still, as long as some idealists were willing to persist, this kind of game wouldn't die out completely.
Right after Metal Gear launched, the latest Forza title also released, filling the gap left by two years without a new racing game.
And along the way, Gamestar Electronic Entertainment also released some more niche titles: a realistic motorcycle racing game, and even a sci-fi space racing game.
These games went on to sell around a million copies—or less—after release.
Their sales weren't high, but development costs were low, so they still earned a small profit. At the same time, these projects helped train the teams and build capability, laying groundwork for bigger, more ambitious titles later.
Everyone who took part in developing those games would be future talent.
Also in 2021, Cyberpunk 2077 revealed information about a new expansion. The exact release date was still pending—they were simply showing it first to get it on people's radar, then waiting for the right time to launch.
During this period, Suri Electronics refused to fall behind. Taking advantage of a gap in Gamestar Electronic Entertainment's release schedule, they launched their latest Solar Knight series entry.
Unlike Gamestar Electronic Entertainment's "premium, polished releases" strategy, Suri Electronics squeezed its IPs hard.
The Solar Knight franchise had already produced more than a dozen mainline and spinoff titles combined.
And those titles covered all kinds of genres—some of them downright bizarre.
For example, Solar Knight Kart. Back then, it seemed like a request from a small group of online players, but it was probably more of a meme and a joke—no one really expected the official team to make it.
Yet Suri Electronics' developers apparently took it seriously and actually released a Solar Knight kart racer.
The characters completely abandoned the franchise's normally serious tone. Everyone became chibi-cute, riding tiny karts with a hilarious contrast—and it was unexpectedly fun.
There were rumors the dev team had hired Mario Kart talent with big money.
Not everyone was an idealist. Some people were more practical, and poaching with huge salaries was common.
But none of this really threatened Gamestar Electronic Entertainment's position.
If one or two people could shake them, someone would've done it long ago—rather than waiting for a couple of poached developers to topple their former employer.
Still, the kart racer was genuinely fun, and in every aspect you could see the influence of Mario Kart.
Takayuki even tried it for a few days after release. The quality didn't lose to mainstream kart racers from his previous life. In some areas, it made choices that felt even more satisfying—very much like the pure speed-focused style of his past-life Crazyracing Kartrider, though with slightly less party-like entertainment.
That actually earned it a following. Suri Electronics had found a different track to compete on.
They had realized they couldn't keep challenging Gamestar Electronic Entertainment head-on in mainstream genres. If they wanted to play, they had to play differentiation.
Look at Brown Entertainment—most of their games avoided direct overlap with Gamestar Electronic Entertainment.
Gamestar Electronic Entertainment didn't make online RPGs, so Brown Entertainment stuck to that route.
Gamestar Electronic Entertainment didn't make the era's hottest FPS titles, so Brown Entertainment did—and did it successfully, carrying echoes of Battlefield and Call of Duty from Takayuki's previous life.
Takayuki didn't necessarily not want to make those games himself—it was just that the era was sensitive. Developing in Japan, he avoided certain things to prevent trouble.
In short, Brown Entertainment's differentiated competition truly gave them a strong market position.
Now Suri Electronics planned to develop the same way.
If Gamestar Electronic Entertainment leaned toward fun and mechanics in a genre, Suri Electronics would focus on story and lighten gameplay.
If Gamestar Electronic Entertainment emphasized story in a genre, Suri Electronics would go the opposite way and emphasize gameplay fun.
So far, the strategy looked solid. At the very least, many of Suri Electronics' games were slowly climbing in sales—and their stock price climbed along with them.
As for Mikfo, there wasn't much to say.
From the beginning, their games division had basically cut off one arm—excluding the world's most popular operating system and developing only on their own system. So even if their games were good, their sales remained lukewarm.
But Myron Keyes wasn't someone who accepted defeat. He kept looking for ways to seize more of the game development market.
In 2021, there was also another game players were desperately looking forward to:
GTA 5.
In the previous entry, players experienced Niko's story and saw what a joke the "American Dream" really was.
Its deep themes drew a huge wave of loyal fans.
Among them, minority groups in the U.S. were now the biggest supporters of the GTA series. They believed the series spoke for them, praising it everywhere. Some even called for the Oscars to create a new category and give the game an award.
That angered certain sociological circles in the U.S., who argued the series promoted violence and should be heavily banned.
But minority groups weren't easy to bully either. Once they gathered, everyone was explosive, constantly fighting these sociological circles online and offline.
Takayuki thought it felt like poison fighting poison.
Neither side in the U.S. scene were exactly "good people," but their fights benefited his game. He only needed to stay silent and quietly earn American money. Those disputes outside the games had nothing to do with him.
He was a mover and creator of games—nothing more.
Metal Gear 5 settled at around seven million copies sold.
It likely broke even around three million, and everything after that was pure profit—letting the series shine one last time before waiting for the next stealth-game wave.
Then came the release of GTA 5.
Based on the development cycle, it was scheduled for the end of the year.
On the eve of Christmas, GTA 5 officially launched.
When other game companies saw this, they immediately delayed the release of their own big-budget games.
One company was even more ruthless and chose to launch early instead—rare in the industry—taking another path to grab attention so they wouldn't lose money.
"President, all review and compliance steps for GTA 5 are complete. We're just waiting for release."
At Gamestar Electronic Entertainment headquarters, Takayuki was looking at GTA 5 in its "complete form."
He was holding a controller, playtesting one of the characters—Franklin.
As a Black character, Franklin's opening story followed a very typical setup for his background.
Two close brothers bickered while discussing how to make a huge score next.
Lamar's mouth never stopped—one line after another.
That familiar feeling.
Takayuki's lips curled slightly. He had reproduced most of this game.
Only some details had been adjusted.
The visuals were improved, and the collision system was optimized.
In Takayuki's previous life, GTA 5 was one of the perfect-score masterpieces. Once something is a perfect score, there's almost nothing to nitpick. All Takayuki could do was build on that base by adding more detail.
For example: making every building in the city enterable and explorable, and then adding more side stories and adventures inside those countless interiors—thickening the game's content and extending playtime. As for the main story, there was no real need to change it.
Now, after experiencing about ten minutes of main story, Takayuki found himself in a high-end nightclub chatting with upper-class types, listening to economic jargon he couldn't understand—while the game quietly mocked modern society, ridiculing how the rich were a bunch of inhuman monsters.
That was enough. No need to do more.
Several producers responsible for GTA 5 watched Takayuki nervously, waiting for his final decision.
They felt this project had been pushed to the limit.
Its overall scale was smaller than Cyberpunk 2077, but the content was absolutely comparable.
And thanks to their experience with 2077, development went far more smoothly this time.
Cyberpunk 2077 had taken six or seven years. GTA 5 only needed two or three years.
If they crunched with overtime, maybe even one or two years could do it.
After all, they had more people, and the overall plan was locked in from the beginning. With the main framework unchanged, development became much easier.
Still, they knew their president was always picky. Whether he would accept the game's quality was uncertain.
Even if they believed it was nearly perfect, their president might still find something he disliked.
"This game is already very close to perfect. I don't have anything to criticize. Prepare for release."
Finally, Takayuki put down the controller and looked at the producers.
The producers immediately relaxed, then said happily, "Understood. We'll contact the marketing team right away."
Having their work recognized by the boss was the greatest reward.
Of course, if you really wanted to nitpick, there were still flaws. GTA 5 was, after all, an earlier-generation product. Viewed with a future lens, it would inevitably have shortcomings—even after Takayuki's many optimizations and tweaks.
But it was enough. Picking at minor flaws was meaningless. They wouldn't significantly affect player experience, and could be adjusted later through updates.
At last, he had brought this game into this world, and Takayuki felt genuinely happy.
By now, the games he had "carried" into this world had already surpassed a hundred titles. Each had its own traits, and among the world's top 100 mainstream game rankings, they occupied seventy percent.
He still held an absolute monopoly—but in recent years, other publishers' quality had steadily improved. Perhaps he was nearing retirement. His dream in this world was basically achieved. Spending the rest of his time simply enjoying this world's video games sounded like a good choice.
Then, in the future, he could occasionally develop a few classic indie titles—something like that.
"Takayuki, you don't look very happy."
The other producers had left. Only Aya remained.
She had noticed Takayuki's expression and gaze shifting several times.
After living together for many years, and being perceptive, she could sense that something in Takayuki's mood had changed.
Takayuki chuckled. "I am happy. There's nothing to be unhappy about. I was just thinking back over all these years and feeling like time passed pretty fast."
A gaming empire had already taken shape, and this world's game industry would continue developing.
Video games had now become a trillion-dollar-scale market. No one dared look down on the industry anymore.
Not every industry could create millions of jobs.
This was another hidden achievement of Takayuki's, beyond the company's growth.
This world itself was still a bit of a mess.
But sometimes it carried a sliver of hope.
Video games were a good buffer.
Aya studied Takayuki for a long time and still couldn't tell what he was truly thinking.
In the end, she gave up. If Takayuki wanted to talk, he would. If he didn't, then it probably wasn't a big deal. She could wait until he spoke up.
"You'll come home on time today, right? I'll cook personally," Aya said. "Airi said she'll come over to freeload dinner too."
Takayuki nodded. "Yeah. I'll be on time. There's not much work now—suddenly relaxing like this isn't bad."