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🕑 Added 2025-08-12 17:15:01 +0000 UTCChapter 141: The Man Stirring the Storm!
People are born, grow old, fall ill, and die. Dynasties rise and fall, the sun and moon trade places in the sky. Nothing escapes these cycles. Yet, in the Confucian cultural sphere, there’s a fascinating concept—“longevity.”
Qin Shi Huang sought elixirs for “longevity,” often interpreted as a quest for immortality. Tetsu Fuyukawa thought this was both right and wrong.
“Burn the books of the ancients, silence the scholars to fool the masses,” “slaughter the heroes, seize the world’s weapons, and cast twelve bronze statues to weaken the people”—feudal emperors didn’t just chase longevity but eternal power, eternal hierarchy, eternal status.
But people age and die, dynasties crumble, and celestial cycles persist. Longevity? Impossible. Eternal dominance? Equally impossible.
Sure, emperors seem distant, but they represent the ruling class, the profiteers. A company’s boss is no different—the profiteer of their domain. NTsoft, once a titan of Japanese gaming, was sliding fast, its leadership no longer “carrying the legacy of six generations to conquer the realm” but sealing off upward mobility, chasing their own “longevity.”
As Tetsu expected, after yesterday’s slight against President Asai and the surprise delay of Aquarium Star, NTsoft desperately needed a blockbuster to halt its decline. Yet Asai’s reprimand arrived right on schedule.
Before 10 a.m., Asai called a ministers’ meeting in the top-floor office to discuss the upcoming NTsoft New Game Showcase the following Monday. With the rise of online video platforms, game promotion had expanded beyond platforms and expos. Big-name studios like NTsoft held one or two showcases yearly, hyping upcoming titles like Dave the Diver, in-development projects like Sekiro and Demon King Saga, and even some released games.
Originally, Dave the Diver was slated for significant airtime, but after yesterday’s snub of Asai, things changed.
By 11:30 a.m., when the meeting ended and details leaked, NTsoft erupted.
“What?! Dave the Diver’s promo time got slashed from fifteen minutes to two?!”
“Seriously? Two minutes is nothing! You barely open the PowerPoint, and time’s up! Minister Miyano must’ve pissed someone off—this is worse than no promo at all. Two sentences, and you’re yanked off stage!”
“Did she offend someone? What was her reaction?”
“Heard she didn’t say a word the whole meeting.”
“No way!”
“No choice. Minister Nobi proposed it, but the one who approved it was… Minister Koharu.”
“What?! Hold up—aren’t Koharu and the Fourth Department under Asai? Why are they turning on their own?!”
The news sent shockwaves through the company.
As lunch break neared, employees finishing morning tasks buzzed about the meeting, fixating on Miyano Miya’s humiliation. In the break room, a group of women in OL uniforms chatted feverishly. As they marveled at Koharu’s attack on Miya, a girl scrolling her phone looked up. “Hey, breaking news! Koharu called Miyano to her office! Koharu’s Asai’s right hand—this is big trouble for Miyano!”
“No way! Show me!” The women crowded around, their gossip heating up.
At that moment, Oosaka Daigo, the elderly finance minister, shuffled past with a teacup. “Women have been gossiping in the break room since NTsoft’s founding,” she chuckled, sipping oolong tea. Glancing at a sharp, professional woman in an OL uniform beside her, she asked, “What do you make of this, Chika?”
“Hai,” Oohara Chika replied, bowing slightly, her calm eyes flickering with thought. “If I had to judge, 97.58% of this is under that man’s control.”
“You’ve been keeping an eye on Fuyukawa, haven’t you?” Oosaka’s cloudy eyes glinted with approval. Glancing at the president’s office, she headed to her own, teacup in hand. “Asai and Koharu were sharp in their youth, but they’ve made the mistake of underestimating the young. They think this meeting was a slap on the wrist, but for Miyano—that hungry little wildcat—and Fuyukawa, whose mind runs deeper than the sea, this is their chance to break free.
“Keep hammering Miyano? Not happening. Koharu’s calling her in now because she sensed something in Miyano’s silence at the meeting. She’s panicking, probably putting on her kind grandma act to appease Miyano with big promises. Now it’s up to Miyano—will she bite the juicy bait, or stick with Fuyukawa to the end? What do you think?”
Chika, opening the office door, recalled, “When I was a freshman, I faced Miyano in a debate—Waseda versus Tokyo U. She was a freshman too, and her commanding presence made us think she was all about control, not details. But after a few rounds, I realized she’s meticulous, loves digging into the fine print, and thrives on high-risk, high-reward bets. I’d say there’s a 0.014% chance she’d betray Fuyukawa.” Refilling Oosaka’s tea, Chika pictured recent work exchanges with Tetsu. “And that man is clearly more worth following than NTsoft’s current state.”
“I’m the finance minister, and you’re saying this to my face? Bold girl!” Oosaka teased, sinking into her chair of nearly fifty years. Sighing, she gazed at the ceiling. “NTsoft’s not what it used to be. Fuyukawa’s bold enough to show his intent to go independent now because he saw that the day Tsuru returned to the front lines, compromise between her and Asai became impossible. And…”
She shook her head, old hands patting the armrests. “He knows we old-timers have lost the will to fight. If he ditches Sekiro now, he’d take a hit, but Asai’s loss would be bigger. His intent to go solo? That’s got Tsuru scheming. Based on Hikari Studio’s funding requests, Sekiro should wrap by next summer. Monstrous pace. For Tsuru, that speed and his ambitions are a godsend.”
Chika nodded. “Once Tsuru confirms Fuyukawa’s serious about going solo—not some ploy with Asai—she’ll back him fully. Since Sekiro’s TGS success, the game’s shifted from watching tigers fight to two carriages, with Fuyukawa as the driver. Asai’s leash is fear; Tsuru’s is hope.
“Asai wants to rein Fuyukawa in but can’t risk Sekiro’s progress—$43 million already invested. Any slip-up hands Tsuru a fatal opening. Tsuru can’t stop Sekiro either, nor will Asai let her. But its fast pace leaves her no choice. Even if Sekiro sells big, as long as Tsuru plays clean, Asai can’t touch her. Her real fear is Fuyukawa’s consistent genius output. Demon King Saga is three years out—her window to flip the board.
“She can’t halt Sekiro, so she’ll treat Fuyukawa like a plague god, sending him off to clear space. There’s a 94.67% chance she’ll meet his every demand.” Chika’s cool eyes swept the office, lined with photos chronicling NTsoft’s rise and fall. Disdain flickered. “This all hinges on neither Asai nor Tsuru flipping the table or sacrificing their faction’s interests for the company. Fuyukawa bet right. From the moment Sekiro exploded at TGS, he was already soaring in the night sky—just waiting for dawn to reveal it.”
Recalling a late-night accounting session, spotting Tetsu leaving in his BMW at 3 a.m., Chika nodded. “He’s different. Not just his game-making talent, but his meticulous mind, keen grasp of people, and bold gambles. From the day he met Miyano and Tsuru returned, he saw his chance. That beastly instinct, prodigious skill, calculated steps, and fearless drive—he’s leagues above the rest. No wonder Miyano, proud as she is, stays by him.”
“You admire him, don’t you?” Oosaka teased, her old eyes twinkling. Getting a glare from Chika, she sipped her tea. “It’s natural. Women are drawn to exceptional men. If I were sixty years younger, I’d be like that wildcat Miyano, smitten. But at eighty, a guy like that would break me. Tsuru’s got it good, swapping out male secretaries daily. A pure old lady like me can’t keep up.”
“Tch, old hag spouting dirty jokes again,” Chika scoffed, crossing her legs and glancing at the clock. “If I’m right, Fuyukawa’s meeting Tsuru now.”
“No,” Oosaka said, sipping tea. “Your analysis is sharp, but you don’t fully get his character. He’s not of this era—more like the monsters I saw in my youth. Their strength came from unyielding pride, a burning desire to never bow, fueling their climb. Tsuru crossed Miyano before, so he won’t go to her. He’s waiting for her to bow.”
Recalling rare talks with Tetsu, Oosaka, a storm-stirring legend in her youth, sighed. “Maneuvering between factions as a mere vice director, scheming, aligning, and crafting this perfect setup—his skill is remarkable.”
The older one gets, the harder it is to embrace new things, but seasoned minds grasp human nature and the world’s rhythms better than the young. While others speculated Koharu was disciplining Miyano, Oosaka, NTsoft’s finance minister for nearly fifty years and a neutral observer, saw through it all.
And she was right.
During lunch, as employees debated Miyano’s “punishment,” a bombshell hit at the start of the afternoon shift.
“What?! Chairwoman Tsuru visited Vice Director Fuyukawa at Hikari Studio?!”
“No joke! I was floored, but everyone saw it! She just left his office, looking thrilled—face all rosy!”
“Rosy?! Is Fuyukawa some kind of incubus?!”
“Breaking news! President Asai just issued a memo—Dave the Diver’s showcase time is extended to thirty minutes! What the hell’s going on?!”
The storm shifted in an instant. NTsoft buzzed with confusion and chatter, but Tetsu, at the eye of it, ignored the noise.
“You’re extra enthusiastic today,” he remarked.
“That’s ‘cause you seem so happy, Tetsu-kun,” Sayoko replied, kneeling on a cushion, cheeks flushed. Recalling noon’s events—Tsuru making her defiant former secretary kneel in front of a stunned Sayoko—her adoring gaze on Tetsu deepened.
Then, a key turned in the lock. Under Tetsu’s wary glance, Miyano Miya strode in, OL uniform sharp, short hair sleek, heels clicking.
“Starting without me?” she teased, locking the door.
Seeing Sayoko’s hips peeking from behind the desk, her heels and stockings in view, and Tetsu’s relaxed demeanor, Miya smirked. Hanging her bag, she swayed over, winking at Sayoko, then straddled Tetsu’s lap, her curvy thighs in a tight skirt and stockings pressing against him.
Feeling Sayoko’s hair brushing her skirt, Miya leaned forward, pinning Tetsu to the chair. Lifting his chin with a flirtatious finger, she purred, “So… how should your big sister reward you, my little master?”
Chapter 142: The Era of Enchanting Beauties!
The moment President Ozuru personally visited Hikari Studio to meet Tetsu Fuyukawa, NTsoft erupted in a frenzy!
Some employees were buzzing with comments like, “Male succubus!” “Ozuru’s panicking!” “Tetsu’s playing both sides—he’s in for trouble!” or “That guy’s luck is unreal!”
Most didn’t grasp the deeper dynamics, assuming Tetsu’s current success was a fluke, only later realizing he’d caught the wave of the Asai-Ozuru rivalry. But Chika Oohara had it right.
From the rainy day when Tetsu saw Miyano Mitei open the car door for Ozuru, from the moment Ozuru returned to NTsoft—not to challenge Asai but to spearhead reforms—Tetsu knew his chance for rapid ascent had arrived.
Chaos is the ladder to success!
While some grumbled over drinks about the company’s uncertain future, while others gossiped in the break room about Ozuru’s past achievements, dreaming of her revitalizing NTsoft, Tetsu was up late every night after Sayoko fell asleep, poring over Asai and Ozuru’s entire career histories.
You can’t earn beyond your understanding, and understanding comes from reading and experience. Only through relentless study and insight could Tetsu build a mental database to support his analysis, which in turn fueled decisive action.
Though he’d barely met Ozuru, after dissecting thirty years of their business deals, tabloid stories, and interviews, Tetsu knew details as trivial as Asai’s favorite type of women or Ozuru’s preference for her male secretaries’ underwear colors!
Of course, just as Tetsu analyzed Asai and Ozuru, they were surely analyzing him. But the current situation wasn’t just due to Chika Oohara’s observation that Asai and Ozuru were “a bit arrogant.” Tetsu had deliberately kept a low profile in their eyes.
He rarely met them alone, and with Mitei’s help, nearly all documents sent to them bore only her name, even if Tetsu had co-crafted them. He’d hidden in her shadow, but now, as the spotlight shifted, his “fledgling wings” were finally visible.
Those wings? A fait accompli.
Asai and Ozuru were locked in a stalemate, neither daring to ease up. With Demon Hero Saga’s release and Sekiro over halfway developed, NTsoft had no funds for a third major project. The current dynamic was a standoff between Asai’s and Ozuru’s factions, with Tetsu as the only wildcard capable of stirring the pot.
“It’s almost like time’s frozen,” Tetsu mused. “Two women pointing guns at each other, neither daring to move, while I’m free to roam.”
Lost in thought, he twisted open his office door. Inside, Mitei and Sayoko sat calmly by the coffee table, sipping tea. Their composed postures belied the faint flush on their cheeks, hinting they hadn’t fully cooled off from earlier.
Without a word, Tetsu locked the door, pulled two pairs of cotton bear-print panties from his pocket—grabbed from the parking lot—and tossed them at Mitei’s face, grinning. “You two put paper down under your butts, or are you planning to soak the sofa? Hey, that’s hot water!”
“You jerk! Why these panties again?!”
Mid-tease, Mitei grabbed the cotton panties and raised her teacup as if to splash him. Seeing him dodge, she smirked, her cool, sultry eyes giving him a playful glare.
“Come on, I picked cotton for better absorbency,” Tetsu quipped.
“Tetsu-kun, we’re in public~”
Sayoko, sitting on the sofa, blushed as she swapped her lace angel-print panties for the cotton bear ones, feeling a lingering warmth in her lower abdomen.
Mitei’s cheeks grew redder too. Still in her heels, she slipped off her wet lace panties under her pencil skirt, swapped them for the cotton pair, and tossed the lace ones onto Tetsu’s desk. “A gift from your big sister.”
“…”
This woman’s getting bolder by the day.
Eyeing Mitei’s defiant stance, hands on hips, Tetsu raised an eyebrow. “What’s this? Meek maid before, boss lady after? Want me to stuff those in your mouth next?”
“You!”
Mitei’s sharp eyes glared, but recalling being pressed against the desk earlier, her lace panties used as a gag, her blush deepened. Annoyed, she stomped over, snatched the panties off the desk, and muttered, “Plenty of guys would kill for these! Ugh, you tore them! How are you gonna make it up to me?!”
Holding up the ripped lace panties, showing off the torn side, Mitei’s eyes sparkled with mischief. Tetsu rolled his eyes. “You bit them yourself—fine, fine, I’ll take you shopping this weekend.”
“That’s more like it.”
Mitei’s sharp eyes curved into crescents. She pecked his cheek, then sashayed off to pour tea. As she bent over, her “peach” swaying, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, musing, “Now Asai and Ozuru know we’re going our own way. We’re safe at NTsoft for now, but we can’t rest easy. You need to speed up Sekiro’s progress.”
“You’re getting heavy again,” Tetsu teased.
“Ah, that tickles, Tetsu-kun~” Sayoko giggled.
“Hey, are you even listening?!”
Pulling Sayoko, now in her cotton panties, into his lap and nuzzling her neck, Tetsu chuckled before turning to Mitei. “Don’t worry, I know what’s at stake. You handle Dave the Diver’s marketing. Once that’s done, I’ll shift all my focus to Sekiro.”
“That’s more like it.”
Mitei brought over three cups of oolong tea, handing one to Sayoko, perched on Tetsu’s left thigh. She then casually settled onto his right thigh, nestling into his chest and wiggling her “peach.” “But are you sure this game can hit close to five million sales? I don’t want Sato mocking me later. Ow—easy~”
“You complain when it’s heavy, you complain when it’s light—women, huh?” Tetsu teased, one arm around Sayoko’s waist, the other kneading Mitei’s “snow pomelos.” He laughed as she bit his ear in retaliation.
When he surrendered with a grin, Mitei released his earlobe, gave it a playful lick, and snuggled closer. “That’s better. Oh, by the way, I never expected Sato to become SATE’s marketing director. No wonder Aquarium Star is launching the same day as us.”
A flicker of irritation crossed Mitei’s eyes.
Aquarium Star was SATE’s product. Mitei had been their marketing director before Ozuru poached her for NTsoft, and Sato was her successor.
Sensing her mood, Tetsu’s fingers teased her “pomelos,” a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Relax. I’m not 100% sure about five million, but crushing Aquarium Star? No problem. You women are scary, though—she’s still holding a grudge after you left a year ago.”
“Obviously,” Mitei scoffed, trapping his hand under her arm for a firmer squeeze, letting out a satisfied breath. Her eyes softened with nostalgia. “It’s not exactly a grudge. Sato and I were Todai classmates, joined SATE the same year, reported to the marketing department on the same day, and worked under the same boss.
It was fun back then. Fresh out of college, our boss sent us to Kabukicho for market research on a yakuza-themed game. Sato got cornered by a homeless guy, and I had to bail her out.”
Her eyes glowed with fond memories, but they dimmed as she sighed. “We were close back then, eating kanto-dango at street stalls late at night, drinking beer. But when our boss retired and the director spot opened, everything changed.”
The mood grew heavy.
Noticing Tetsu about to speak, Mitei rubbed her head against his chin, shifting topics with a smile. “Sato pushed Aquarium Star’s release to avoid the crowded December window, but it’s also her showing off her status at SATE. That kind of thing…”
Recalling Minister Koharu’s faintly fawning smile at lunch, the thrill of flipping the power dynamic made Mitei’s gaze toward Tetsu even more heated.
Straddling his right thigh, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her upper body against him, one knee brushing up as she tilted her head, red lips pouting. “Will Master let Miyano get bullied out there?”
“!”
Feeling her teasing grind, Tetsu’s eyes sparked with fire. As his grip tightened, Mitei’s flush deepened. She slid down, her stocking-clad knees hitting the floor.
“This is… your second reward,” she purred.
“!”
“Tetsu-kun~”
Blood rushing, Tetsu said nothing, turning to kiss Sayoko, who was on his lap, pretending to watch art tutorials but blushing furiously.
“Slurp~ Such a player,” Mitei teased. “But if the game flops, big sister’s gonna punish—mmph!”
As both hands pressed down on their heads, the office fell into a hushed stillness.
No doubt, while Tetsu indulged, NTsoft was still reeling from Ozuru’s visit. Even the next day, employees were abuzz, and countless teacups were likely shattered in the president’s office. But as Dave the Diver’s launch neared, the company’s focus began to shift.
After the success of Surrounded by Beauties and The Binding of Isaac, Tetsu, NTsoft’s hottest game producer, had everyone’s attention on his new project. And it wasn’t just NTsoft—SATE’s employees were watching too.
“What’s Minister Sato thinking, moving Aquarium Star’s release to clash with Tetsu’s game? Did she not get the memo from her Poland branch days?”
“You’re the one out of the loop. If Tetsu’s game wasn’t launching today, Sato wouldn’t have picked this date.”
“Huh? What’s that mean?”
“Newbies should listen more, talk less. The company’s making big moves—acquiring Dragon Realm in Finland and Athens Rising in France, both major IPs. Know why?”
“Uh… to back the new PH3 console?”
“Not completely clueless, huh? PH3’s a huge bet, but to match PH2’s glory, we need our own games and third-party support. NTsoft used to launch on our platform, but they’re leaning toward GiantBank lately. The higher-ups probably want to knock them down a peg. And it’s not just corporate…”
Back when SATE expanded into Europe, acquiring big IPs, Sato and Mitei joined as star recruits. Newbies like you missed that era, but those two were powerhouses—versatile in finance, marketing, product scouting, and team management, with killer market instincts.
Under Minister Morishima, they conquered Europe for SATE. Tsk, Mitei back then was wilder than now—people called her “Mad Cat.” To secure Holy War Kingdom, she worked seven weeks straight, sleeping two hours a day, negotiating, wining and dining, studying markets. You know the result: Holy War Kingdom became an open-world hit, selling 15 million copies, cementing her industry legend status.
Sato wasn’t far behind, landing two 10-million-sellers. They were close, dubbed SATE’s “twin flowers.” That era of companies throwing cash at IPs was electric.
Oh, and speaking of women in gaming, NTsoft’s Chika Oohara is another legend. Don’t let NTsoft’s finance department’s current state fool you—approving budgets, no decision-making power. Back then, their finance team was king, greenlighting IP acquisitions, budget allocations, and project approvals. Every department revolved around them.
Chika, a finance expert, was a versatile leader, tracking every department’s progress and industry trends to direct funds. She stayed behind the scenes, but every NTsoft hit had her fingerprints. She clashed fiercely with Mitei and Sato—an era we insiders called “Japan’s Gaming Reign of Terrifying Beauties.”
But then, NTsoft’s finance chief, Daiga Osaka, hit a rough patch—her only daughter was in a car accident. She fell apart, and during her promotion to executive, Asai, vying for president, sabotaged her. The finance department lost power, leading to NTsoft’s current decentralized model where the president calls the shots.
It’s no surprise—finance’s dominance made enemies, and Asai united them to take the throne. Around then, SATE’s Morishima retired, and Mitei and Sato fought for his spot. Sato lost, went to Poland. NTsoft’s finance lost clout, Chika went quiet, and Mitei, the last “beauty” standing, aimed for the board at under 30 but got blocked by Asai. Poached to a struggling NTsoft, she faded from the industry’s top tier. Thus ended the “Era of Enchanting Beauties.”
At SATE’s headquarters, two male employees chatted as they swiped into the lobby. The older, Hiroshi Nohara, spoke with gusto, while the younger listened in awe. “Group Leader Nohara, you’re so knowledgeable! I’ve got a lot to learn!”
“Of course! I’m SATE’s walking encyclopedia!” Hiroshi laughed.
“So, who’s got the edge this time?”
“Hm…” Hiroshi rubbed his stubbled chin. “For SATE, it’s not about winning or losing. Aquarium Star’s an old IP, never broke a million sales per title. Its success or failure won’t shake us. If it steals some buzz from Dave the Diver and slaps NTsoft, that’s a win. But…”
“Sato doesn’t see it that way, right?”
“Hah, you’re catching on!” Hiroshi grinned, lowering his voice. “I heard in Poland, Sato kept a photo of Mitei on her desk—torn in half, just Mitei’s side left. She’s been holding that grudge for—oh, Minister Sato!”
“Good morning, Minister Sato!”
Mid-gossip, Hiroshi’s ears twitched at approaching footsteps. Without turning, he snapped to attention and bowed.
A woman in an OL uniform, hair in an elegant updo, appeared. At about 1.6 meters, her curvaceous figure—36F bust, soft “peach,” slim waist—was striking. Her skin, far paler than typical for an Asian, had a lush, almost anime-like allure that sparked primal desire.
Glancing at the bowing duo, catching snippets of their talk, Fujiko Sato’s brow furrowed, irritation flashing in her eyes. But sensing their fear, a thrill of satisfaction replaced it. With a dismissive “hmph,” she strode toward the elevator. Only when she was gone did Hiroshi lift his head, wiping sweat from his brow. “Phew, good thing she didn’t hear us, or we’d be toast! This is your fault, kid, bringing up that topic!”
“You were the one going off!”
“But, Group Leader, didn’t Sato’s makeup look extra polished today?”
“Huh?”
Hiroshi, just scolding his junior, perked up. “You’re pretty observant, kid. Yeah, her makeup’s sharper, and she switched perfumes. She’s really invested in today’s launch results!”
Hiroshi kept gossiping, and he wasn’t alone in noticing. As Aquarium Star and Dave the Diver’s launch neared, SATE buzzed with chatter.
Returning to her office, Fujiko felt countless furtive glances but ignored them. Pushing open her door, a proud, irrepressible smile curled her lips. She opened her computer, checking OTTO’s backend: Aquarium Star’s pre-orders at 54,712 versus Dave the Diver’s 21,475.
Lighting a cigarette, she crossed her legs elegantly, her eyes gleaming with mischief and excitement. But as her gaze drifted to the photo frame by her pen holder—a faded picture of a young, vibrant Mitei, torn in half—her expression grew complex, mingling nostalgia and warmth. Ultimately, it hardened into disdain and pride.
Leaning back, exhaling smoke, she propped her stocking-clad legs on the desk. “Thirty years east, thirty years west. Long time no see, Miyano.”
If Tetsu were there, he’d notice Fujiko’s pose mirrored Mitei’s favorite when alone in her office.
Chapter 143: Dave the Diver! Launch Day!
Whether it’s Dave the Diver or Aquarium Star, judging by their scale, neither game was poised to spark massive buzz in the gaming community before release. The reason’s simple: they’re small in scope, their gameplay isn’t particularly groundbreaking, and there are plenty of similar titles out there.
But this time, things are different.
October’s release schedule is unusually quiet—no major titles or big IP sequels, with most heavy hitters pushed to December or next spring. Plus, Tetsu Fuyukawa’s name still carries a lot of heat, so plenty of players are hyped for his new project. And SATE, or rather Fujiko Sato, has played her cards right.
Yes, a calculated move.
Fujiko deliberately pulled a reverse delay, scheduling Aquarium Star’s release on the same day as Dave the Diver to stir up hype. Many players are eager for Dave the Diver because of Tetsu’s reputation, and while Aquarium Star isn’t a massive IP, it has a loyal niche following. The two games are similar in genre, with significant audience overlap, and releasing them simultaneously creates the perfect setup for fan rivalries. A little nudge on forums, and players start bickering.
After all, players aren’t industry insiders—they don’t have access to the full picture. With limited info, they can’t tell if heated debates are sparked by paid trolls or genuine fans. Add in the internet’s toxic atmosphere, where a single jab can ignite a flame war, and you’ve got a recipe for buzz. Arguments drive attention.
And it’s working like a charm.
As the clock ticks closer to the 10 a.m. launch, Fujiko’s hired trolls kick into high gear, and the online chatter explodes. Search trends for “Dave the Diver launch,” “Tetsu Fuyukawa’s road to failure,” and “Aquarium Star’s new version” skyrocket.
“Fujiko’s still playing these games, huh?” Chika Oohara remarked, sipping oolong tea while eyeing the spiking data on her computer in NTsoft’s finance department.
Beside her, Taiga Oosaka lounged with her legs crossed, smoking a cigarette and nursing a beer. Her weathered, misty eyes gleamed with nostalgia. “Didn’t expect you three girls to be duking it out again. This is gonna be fun.”
She took a drag, glancing at the scrolling data on the screen. “Back in the day, it was the same, wasn’t it? You were the steadiest but the most ruthless—going straight for the kill. Miyabi’s the wildest, a real gambler, but her bets are on big-picture choices; she’s steady when it comes to execution. As for Fujiko…” Taiga shook her head with a sigh. “She’s got talent and brains but lacks confidence, lacks conviction in her path. When you rose up, she tried copying your ruthlessness. When Miyabi shone, she mimicked her boldness. But she missed the key thing you both share: stability. So she ended up rootless, swinging wildly with her offbeat tactics.”
“Offbeat tactics?” Chika’s calm eyes flickered with amusement. “That’s a fitting way to put it. But if her instincts are sharp, going offbeat can still work. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be SATE’s marketing head.”
“True enough,” Taiga nodded, then raised a brow, smirking like a mischievous girl. “So, who’re you betting on this time? Your old pal Fujiko or your rival Miyabi?”
“Who I’m betting on? Those two are neck-and-neck in marketing skill—both sharp, both with keen market instincts, just different styles.” Chika’s gaze drifted to a document on her screen detailing Tetsu’s career. A faint smile curved her lips. “But when it comes to picking men, Miyabi’s got Fujiko beat by a mile.”
To understand someone, you can’t just listen to what they say or even judge their current actions. You have to piece together their entire history to spot the subtle clues. For Chika Oohara, who stayed above the fray between the Koharu and Asai factions, she knew exactly what kind of beast Tetsu Fuyukawa was.
And honestly, so did SATE’s Fujiko Sato. As someone who’d been Miyabi Miyano’s rival for years, a woman who’d made a name for herself and became SATE’s marketing head by thirty, Fujiko wouldn’t underestimate Miyabi or Tetsu.
But many don’t get it.
SATE is a titan in Japan’s gaming industry. Their PlayHome console is a global hit, making them a dominant force, even dwarfing NTsoft at its peak. A third of Japan’s top game IPs are under SATE’s control, and their reputation in the industry and among players is massive—not entirely organic, either.
Slogans like “Number One in the World,” “XXX is King,” or “XXX’s games are always top-tier” might start with players, but they’re amplified by corporate marketing. Some think domestic games go viral purely through hype, and sure, marketing’s a factor. But foreign games, like those from Nintendo, play the same game. Nintendo’s 2023 Q1-Q3 financials show 78 billion yen on R&D and 76 billion on advertising—roughly 3.9 billion RMB on development and 3.8 billion on ads, burning 14 million RMB daily on marketing alone.
Compare that to the peak of China’s ride-hailing wars, where Tencent’s Didi and Alibaba’s Kuaidi burned 40 million RMB a day, and that was a short-lived battle. Nintendo’s spending is relentless, year after year. That’s the scale of their marketing, and the results speak for themselves.
SATE, while not quite Nintendo’s level, isn’t far off, pouring over 10 million RMB daily into ads. Some call it promotion; others, brainwashing. Through platforms like TikTok, YouTube, Bilibili, news outlets, forums, and even paid commenters, they shape player perceptions, molding expectations to fit their games.
Of course, it’s a bit of a joke—you can only “brainwash” players if you’re making money, and that means the games have to be good. But this ad budget isn’t just for games; it’s for building SATE’s brand, creating the impression that anything they release is gold. Look at Cyberpunk 2077—players flocked to it because of CD Projekt Red’s reputation. SATE has a similar brand pull.
Tetsu’s at a natural disadvantage against this giant, especially since Aquarium Star is a niche but established IP.
“What do we do? It feels like Tetsu’s got no chance! Aquarium Star’s pre-orders are over 130,000, and we’re barely at 20,000!” an employee fretted in NTsoft’s lobby.
“It’s a tough fight. SATE’s brand is too strong, and their tagline—‘This October, Aquarium Star 5, an iterative masterpiece, fulfills all your ocean dreams’—is killer. With SATE’s name and the IP’s pull, anyone eyeing this genre will pick them first,” another chimed in.
“Blame Miyabi. She and SATE’s Fujiko are old rivals. She pushed Fujiko to Poland back in the day, and now Fujiko’s back for revenge. Wonder if Tetsu can handle the pressure. If he flops, that’s a big loss of face in front of his woman! Will she lose faith in him?” a third smirked.
“No way. Miyabi’s seen it all—she knows there’s no such thing as an undefeated general in this industry. Thinking a small-budget game’s failure would shake her is naive. But Tetsu’s got a strong personality. If he loses to SATE, even if it’s not shameful, he’ll probably feel awful,” another replied.
“Young folks need setbacks. A small loss now prevents bigger ones later,” an older employee mused.
“Exactly. Tetsu’s had it too easy. A stumble now isn’t bad—failure’s the mother of success. You only win by piling up losses!” another added.
“These guys! Whose side are they on, badmouthing Tetsu’s team in the company?!” Kawaguchi fumed, overhearing the chatter as he stepped out of the motion-capture studio. His face flushed with anger, ready to confront them, when a slender hand grabbed his shirt.
“You’ve been at a big company for ten years and can’t keep your cool over this?” Amane teased, raising a brow behind her stylish sunglasses, her expression screaming, You’re kinda pathetic, dude.
Stung by her look, Kawaguchi panicked, his face reddening. He barely dared glance at Amane’s mature, fox-like charm, stealing a peek before looking away, bowing shyly. “S-Sorry! You’re right…”
“Amane, this guy’s got a crush on you,” Keiko whispered loudly in Amane’s ear, smirking as she slung her bag over her shoulder.
Kawaguchi’s face turned strawberry-red. “A c-crush?!”
“Keiko, don’t—” he stammered, waving his hands, but Amane cut him off with a scowl. “I’m not into weak guys. Quit yapping and take us to Sayoko! I’ve got shopping to do this afternoon!”
“Y-Yes, ma’am!” Kawaguchi mumbled, leading them to the elevator like a scolded puppy, sneaking glances at Amane’s face, his cheeks burning. It’s all Tetsu’s fault! he thought, cursing inwardly. Why’d he put me in this situation with her?!
Kawaguchi was a mess, itching to confront Tetsu but too timid to act. Amane and Keiko, Sayoko’s sisters, had been visiting Tokyo often since their Fuji trip, both being divorced and free-spirited. Amane had supported a boyfriend through college, grad school, and a PhD, only for him to marry a younger woman. Keiko discovered her ex-husband preferred men and suggested a “group activity.” After such bizarre experiences, they’d let loose, hitting Kabukicho for host clubs instead of shopping.
Tetsu and Sayoko couldn’t keep up with them, so Tetsu had pawned them off on Kawaguchi, calling him a “Kabukicho expert.” When Kawaguchi, dressed in a new suit and hair gelled, met them, Amane had greeted him with, “Hey, you the pimp Kawaguchi?” He’d been mortified, though the misunderstanding was later cleared. Still, he felt her gaze was… off.
Tetsu screwed me over! Kawaguchi thought, near tears. But then Keiko, scanning the office and overhearing the chatter, realized, “Oh, right, Sayoko said Tetsu’s got a game launching soon. Is it today?”
“You idiot! Didn’t you see why Kawaguchi wanted to deck those guys? Ugh, I told you to check before coming. Now we’re probably interrupting!” Amane snapped, glaring at Keiko before turning to Kawaguchi. “Hey, is Tetsu’s situation really as bad as those guys said?”
“P-Pervert?!” Kawaguchi choked at the nickname, pressing the elevator button. He nodded hesitantly, then shook his head. “It’s rough, yeah, but Tetsu said it’s no big deal and told me not to worry.”
“You asked him directly?” Amane raised a brow, sizing him up before chuckling. “No wonder you’re still stuck after ten years—you can’t read people at all. Guess I’m blind, too.” She sighed, hands on hips, smirking. “Tetsu’s got that macho vibe—I could smell it from across Tokyo Bay. Guys like him would rather die than admit they’re struggling. But if he bothers answering your dumb questions, he must trust you.”
“N-Not that much…” Kawaguchi mumbled, flustered.
“Ugh, how does a guy this dense get a job here? No wonder the company’s slipping,” Amane muttered, facepalming. But catching Keiko’s eye, they shared a worried look.
They didn’t visit Tokyo often and rarely interacted with Tetsu, but he’d always treated them well—arranging food and lodging, even picking them up from Kabukicho at midnight when they’d had too much. Amane and Keiko weren’t naive dreamers; they knew a young NTsoft sub-director like Tetsu was a big deal, yet he never looked down on them, small-town women. That was enough to make them care about his career, especially as Sayoko’s sisters.
The office’s pessimistic vibe weighed on them, growing thicker as more people piled into the elevator.
“Ten minutes till launch! Tetsu’s in for a rough one. Even with D-tier promo weight, 20,000 pre-orders shows his name carries weight,” one employee said.
“Twenty thousand pre-orders off fame alone is impressive, but SATE’s brand is too big. The game probably won’t bomb, but Aquarium Star will steal a chunk—maybe most—of the sales,” another replied.
“No bomb’s good enough. Tetsu probably doesn’t care about the royalties,” someone added.
“You’re oversimplifying. Haven’t you heard? Tetsu’s planning to go independent after Sekiro. He needs startup funds and a rep to attract talent. A loss to SATE, even if it’s not shameful, will dent his credibility way more than royalties,” another argued.
The employees didn’t bother lowering their voices around Kawaguchi. Tetsu’s plan to go independent was no secret, so while no one dared cross him, most weren’t as cautious with their gossip unless they planned to follow him.
The chatter made Amane and Keiko tense. “Is the pressure really that bad?” Amane muttered, clenching her fist. She noticed Kawaguchi’s face—timid but burning with indignation.
“Didn’t expect him to have some guts,” she thought, her curiosity piqued. Kawaguchi, too focused on the game launch, didn’t notice.
At the studio, they learned Tetsu and Sayoko were at the director’s office. Amane and Keiko hadn’t called ahead, planning to surprise Sayoko about the dog and cat. Kawaguchi, exasperated but softening at Amane’s sheepish head-scratch, took them to the general office instead.
“Amane, Keiko! What are you doing here?” Nogi, an older colleague who’d met them at Fuji, greeted them warmly. After hearing the situation, she led them to the couch with a smile.
“I’ll leave them to you—I’ve got work,” Kawaguchi said, glancing back at Amane as he left.
Nogi, catching his look, grinned. “Don’t let Kawaguchi’s plain looks fool you. He’s reliable—our combat planning team’s director now.”
“He does seem solid,” Amane replied smoothly, reading Nogi’s intent. Scanning the office and the lead’s desk, she added, “Not just him—you’ve come a long way, too, Nogi-san.”
“Oh, stop!” Nogi beamed, flattered. After nearly twenty years as a grunt, Tetsu’s promotion had made her a director. “It’s all thanks to Tetsu. Without him, these old bones would’ve been kicked out of NTsoft.” Sipping tea, she launched into a glowing recount of Tetsu’s feats, her HR finesse making him sound godlike.
Amane and Keiko, seasoned enough to spot exaggeration, still felt Tetsu’s prowess, especially seeing employees’ deference to Nogi. “What a guy,” they thought, exchanging relieved glances—not envious, but happy for Sayoko.
As they chatted, the hallway erupted. “Ten o’clock! Launch time!” “Tetsu’s charging in!” “Take down SATE!” The office buzzed.
Amane and Keiko, caught up in the excitement, followed Nogi to a computer, eyes glued to the screen. The whole company was electric—some hoped Tetsu would crash, others prayed for a miracle. Lightbird’s southeast corner rooted for him to crush SATE.
In the motion-capture studio, Asuka Tsukitake sipped water, standing apart from the crowd but tall enough to see the central screen. She was watching, too. Everyone was talking about Dave the Diver versus Aquarium Star, and she knew Tetsu was at a steep disadvantage.
Hearing the worried chatter—“The gap’s too big! They’ve got 100,000+ pre-orders!” “This is a huge challenge for Tetsu!” “100,000 sales to break even, please!”—Asuka’s cool eyes stayed on the screen. A faint smile crept into her gaze. “A guy like him, a monster… the bigger the disadvantage, the more fired up he gets.”
Her thoughts wandered. “Miyabi and Sayoko are probably in for it later. Wonder if he’ll pin them against the office window…” Her mind drifted, eyes glazing over, until the sales numbers on the screen began to climb.
Chapter 144: Who’s the Hunter?!
Launch day had arrived!
As the warm autumn sun pierced the clouds over Tokyo at noon, NTsoft’s employees eagerly pulled up their chairs and huddled around their computers. But soon, they spotted trouble.
“Excluding pre-orders, we’ve sold 7,000 copies in the first two hours… Looks like we can’t beat them,” one employee sighed.
“It’s mainly because Aquarium Star is hogging all the attention! 20,000 pre-orders show Vice-Director Fuyukawa’s name carries weight, and the genre’s a draw, but what a shame.”
“No way around it. Unless a simulation game has the scope of something like Civilization, the market’s pretty small. Limited pool, fewer fish, and now Aquarium Star’s scooped them all up. Vice-Director Fuyukawa’s heading for a flop.”
Staring at the sales comparison chart on their screens, many NTsoft employees shook their heads in disappointment.
In two hours since launch, Diver Dave had barely hit 30,000 copies, including pre-orders, while Aquarium Star was already at 290,000!
They knew established IPs from big studios, with pre-order models, typically peak in the first week, but this gap was just too wide!
Many at NTsoft felt let down, though not entirely surprised.
Once Diver Dave’s genre was revealed and Aquarium Star’s reverse delay was announced, most had braced for this outcome.
It boiled down to both games competing in the same niche, with a limited player base. Like two bubble tea shops on the same street, the market gets split, and the smaller brand usually gets squeezed out.
There were solutions, though—differentiation and price cuts. If one shop sells drinks for 15-20 bucks, the other could offer unique flavors at a few bucks to attract different customers and avoid direct competition. But Tetsu Fuyukawa had priced Diver Dave the same as Aquarium Star.
At NTsoft, discussions about the two games’ launches were heated, with employees chatting over lunch. Meanwhile, the buzz at SATE was just as intense.
“That Fuyukawa’s got some ego,” one SATE employee scoffed. “If he’d leaned into differentiating the games during marketing or lowered the price a bit, things might not look so bad.”
“I bet it’s because he’s been riding high lately—players and media hyping him up left and right. He’s probably gotten a bit full of himself. He’s what, 25? Small-time company folks like him, never seen the big leagues, get a few compliments and think they’re untouchable.”
“True, but I’m surprised Miya Miyano didn’t rein him in. She’s a seasoned marketing director—how didn’t she see this coming? Unless… Fuyukawa’s some kind of male succubus?!”
“Pfft! Male succubus? Don’t start that nonsense!”
“Haha, who knows? How else could Miya make a rookie mistake like this? And I heard Diver Dave shifts to trade and restaurant management later on. With so many elements, it should’ve been easy to differentiate from Aquarium Star in marketing.”
“No idea. Maybe Miya’s skills dulled after joining that small company. NTsoft’s full of country bumpkins, right? Hardworking, sure, but with zero vision. Maybe she’s been infected by those small-town hicks. Oh, wait—she’s one herself, isn’t she? Ha—oh! Director Sato!”
In SATE’s break room, a few employees were gossiping when a chubby guy, mid-rant with a teacup in hand, froze. Fujiko Sato, dressed in an OL uniform with expensive jewelry around her neck, strode in.
The room fell silent, everyone snapping to attention with respectful bows.
Sweeping her gaze over the men, Fujiko’s eyes glinted with fierce pride. As she poured water, she coolly asked the chubby guy, “You look down on small-towners?”
“Uh…”
Sweat poured down his face, words failing him. Then, Fujiko’s lips curled into a faint smile. She patted his shoulder, her eyes scanning the others. “You’re right. Those country bumpkins may have talent, but they’re shortsighted and lack composure. They’ll never amount to much.”
“Yes! Director, you think so too?!” the chubby guy blurted, his face lighting up.
Joking aside, SATE dwarfed NTsoft in scale, with a different corporate structure where the marketing director wielded more power. If he could win Director Sato’s favor…
His eyes gleamed with barely contained excitement. But then—SLAP!
A sharp smack sent him staggering!
The stinging pain on his cheek left him stunned.
Not just him—the entire break room froze, people shrinking into corners.
Sensing their fearful stares, Fujiko raised her right hand, rubbing her reddened palm. With a scornful laugh, she said, “Those small-town bumpkins may lack vision, but underestimating your competition? That’s next-level stupidity. Get out. I don’t want to see your pathetic face again.”
Assault’s illegal!
But unless you’re ready to kiss your career in Japan’s gaming industry goodbye, no one dares cross a SATE director.
“Yes, yes! Sorry, Director! So sorry!” The chubby guy, panic-stricken, scrambled out of the break room.
Even after he was gone, the room stayed silent, no one daring to move.
With another disdainful glance at the men, Fujiko picked up her tea and sashayed back to her office, her slightly plump hips swaying.
Sitting in her boss’s chair, she stared at the computer screen, eyeing the massive sales gap. Her gaze lingered on a framed photo of Miya Miyano beside her monitor.
“Marketing misstep? What a joke to hear right after returning to HQ. To think anyone would question your ability, you small-town bumpkin,” Fujiko muttered.
Her lips curved into a smile as she sipped her tea, legs propped on the desk, framing her laptop. Staring at the ceiling, she mentally replayed the marketing clash between Diver Dave and Aquarium Star over the past few days.
“Differentiated marketing would’ve been your best move. Highlighting the differences between the games would’ve shielded you from my attack and even let you piggyback on my Aquarium Star buzz for free. But…”
Both games involved fishing, but their feedback loops diverged. Diver Dave focused on cooking and restaurants; Aquarium Star on nurturing fish and running an aquarium.
Their core appeal wasn’t identical, and their art styles were worlds apart.
Differentiation in marketing should’ve been easy, but Miya didn’t bother. Instead, she leaned into Fujiko’s challenge, pouring money into head-to-head promotional campaigns!
“I bait the hook, and you bite? So you’re that confident in this game… no, wait.”
Recalling the previous night, when she’d secretly driven to NTsoft’s entrance and seen Miya and Sayoko leaving intimately with Tetsu, Fujiko’s smile turned playful yet complicated. “You’re that confident in this man? Still just a country girl who can’t resist a guy’s arms, huh? Even after that childhood trauma, you’re still drawn to men.”
Her brows furrowed slightly, a mix of nostalgia and resentment in her eyes. A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and her female secretary hurried in with a laptop.
“Director, real-time data from online video platforms is coming in,” the secretary said, setting the laptop on the desk.
“What about data from international platforms?” Fujiko asked, sitting up straight. She pulled a cigarette from her pocket, lit it with practiced ease, and fixed her sharp gaze on the screen.
Sensing Fujiko’s shift in demeanor and knowing her history with Miya, the secretary replied seriously, “I’ve coordinated with the platforms. We’ll get backend playback data in real-time.”
“Good. No slip-ups. Monitor comments and bullet chats too!”
“Arrangements were made three days ago.”
“Double-check them!”
“Yes, ma’am!”
The secretary plugged in the laptop and rushed out to relay orders. Fujiko, calmly smoking, locked her eyes on the data streaming across two monitors.
Yes, two monitors!
And that was just the surface—her entire SATE marketing department was in full swing!
Having clashed with Miya for years, even vying for the director role, Fujiko might call her a “country bumpkin” but took her deadly seriously.
And if she respected Miya, how could she overlook Tetsu Fuyukawa?
Surrounded by Beauties, Binding of Isaac, Sekiro at TGS—these three milestones? Fujiko had studied them obsessively, ensuring Tetsu couldn’t pull off another Surrounded by Beauties move: dominating China’s market first, then catching Japan off-guard.
She was watching everything.
The key? Aquarium Star and Diver Dave were now locked in a head-on battle. Fujiko was attacking Diver Dave, and while they hadn’t hired trolls to retaliate, they weren’t dodging either, refusing differentiated marketing!
To most players, the two games were direct competitors in a small niche.
One would lose out. With SATE’s brand and Aquarium Star’s established fanbase, Diver Dave could only climb by banking on raw quality and word-of-mouth.
But “relying on quality” wasn’t passive. If Diver Dave showed signs of gaining traction on gaming communities or video platforms, Tetsu would pour money in to amplify it!
Game marketing hinges on three pillars: game expos, company press conferences, and online video platforms—the latter being the most effective. How many learn about releases or discounts through YouTube, Bilibili, or Douyin? If Tetsu and Miya invested in those platforms, Fujiko would match them with her own budget!
Both games were now locked in a standoff!
Aquarium Star had its legacy IP clout. Tetsu’s game had his reputation’s pull. The playerbase was now a raging river of debate, drawing even more attention.
If one side’s reputation tanked, the winner would claim all the buzz. Both could end up as each other’s stepping stone!
To secure reputation, quality was key. When quality was close, the side with more money to burn had the edge.
A thrill of excitement crossed Fujiko’s face.
The thrill of a hunter spotting prey.
She didn’t think she’d lose. SATE’s traffic and marketing budget dwarfed NTsoft’s.
As for quality, Aquarium Star 5 was a legacy IP with a proven system and dedicated audience. Built on the new Zeus engine, it wasn’t a blockbuster but boasted “generational” upgrades over its predecessors.
Backend data showed over 50,000 new players—without prior series purchases—had jumped in within two hours of launch.
Aquarium Star 5 wasn’t a masterpiece, but its quality was rock-solid, hailed internally as a series reboot!
“Think you can steal my hype with quality and word-of-mouth? Tch, I want to see just how tough this man is—the one a high-and-mighty village girl like you believes in!”
Her eyes gleamed with anticipation. As expected, two hours post-launch, Diver Dave’s sales growth accelerated, and the secretary’s report came in: online video platforms were seeing a surge in Diver Dave buzz!
A surge!
But Fujiko stayed calm.
Video platforms were a must for marketing spend. Even before launch, companies court big-name streamers for beta tests or demos. Many had videos ready, just waiting for release day.
“The first wave of videos always spikes buzz, but converting that to sales takes time. You need players talking, more creators jumping in, building a discussion frenzy. That’s when the hype-swept players start buying!”
Unfazed, Fujiko smoked calmly, issuing orders to her secretary as the data shifted.
Chapter 145: Whale-Swallowing! I Am the Masterpiece!
Yup, issuing orders based on data shifts!
Just a little extra push for promotion!
SATE’s got way deeper pockets than NTsoft, but she’s not planning to crush Diver Dave with one big swing!
The essence of hype is all about sparking discussion to boost exposure. And to get people talking, you’ve gotta give them something worth chatting about!
She’s not keen on taking the shady route of piggybacking off a top-tier masterpiece for some cheap controversy. Besides, Aquarium Star 5 couldn’t handle that kind of stunt—it’d just make the game look desperate and weird to players.
At the same time, picking a fight with tiny game companies or indie developers isn’t worth the effort. Their traffic is too low—challenging them would be like handing out free publicity for nothing in return.
NTsoft, though? They’re not quite a top-tier giant, but they’re still a first-class game company. Add to that Tetsu Fuyukawa, a producer with two back-to-back hits selling over five million copies each, who stole the show at this summer’s Tokyo Game Show (TGS). They’re the perfect size for this!
To put it simply, it’s like two people buying a fishpond together, dumping fish into it like crazy, and now it’s a race to see who can net the most. Whoever plays their cards right and leverages the other’s investment for their own gain comes out on top!
And in Fujiko Sato’s eyes?
NTsoft’s got money, but not as much as SATE.
Tetsu Fuyukawa’s got a name, but it’s not bigger than SATE’s!
As for game quality? She’s confident Aquarium Star won’t lose!
The plan’s coming together!
Now, the goal is to reel players in, keeping the buzz centered on Aquarium Star 5 and Fuyukawa’s new title. With a few small-scale promotional investments already in play, NTsoft’s Mitei Miyano and Tetsu Fuyukawa are quick to respond. As more non-SATE influencers jump into the fray, Fujiko’s even more convinced that Miyano and Fuyukawa are thinking the same way she is!
“They’re really throwing cash at this?! What’s your deal?! You’re just a department head at NTsoft! Just prey!”
Seeing their response, Fujiko’s excitement spikes, but she keeps her cool and stays steady, continuing to sprinkle in small promotional investments. Like fishing, she’s casting out bit by bit, keeping Aquarium Star 5 just above Diver Dave without pulling too far ahead.
This neck-and-neck race is firing up players’ enthusiasm!
And as the buzz grows, both games’ sales start climbing!
Both are gaining, but Aquarium Star’s numbers are clearly rising faster!
Still, Fujiko’s not letting her guard down. A couple of tens of thousands in sales doesn’t tell the whole story!
This “fishpond” they’ve both built is teeming with way more than just a few tens of thousands of “fish”!
Who catches the most depends on how word-of-mouth spreads and how public opinion shapes up!
What most people don’t know, though…
Meanwhile, NTsoft is in an uproar!
“This level of hype?! No way! This can’t just be SATE stirring things up, and it’s definitely not just us!”
“Didn’t Sub-Director Fuyukawa say he was only giving this game a D-tier promotional budget?! Did something change?!”
“No clue! All I know is Nogi just grabbed the funding allocation plan and ran to the finance department to find Sub-Director Ohara!”
“They’re not seriously thinking of going head-to-head with SATE, are they?! That’s insane! They’re too strong—throwing money at promotion now is like wrapping a gift for them!”
If this hype was all SATE’s doing, Diver Dave wouldn’t be in the conversation—at least not in a positive light!
By 3 PM, plenty of NTsoft employees are starting to notice this!
But beyond shock, they’re mostly just confused!
When most players pick a game, especially in the same genre, they usually buy just one in the short term—the one with better buzz and sales!
In their eyes, Fuyukawa and Miyano throwing money at promotion now is basically handing Aquarium Star a free win!
And it’s not just the regular staff thinking this!
“Your sub-director’s sharp. Bold, too.”
In the finance department, Chika Ohara flips through the funding allocation plan while processing approvals on her office software. She glances at Nogi, who’s standing awkwardly nearby.
Her transparent glasses reflect the glow of the screen as a strange smile tugs at her lips. “But isn’t he being a bit too cautious, submitting the plan this late? Doesn’t he trust our finance team?”
“N-no, no, Sub-Director Ohara, you’re overthinking it! Our department head just—”
It’s a sharp question, and Nogi stumbles, flashing an ingratiating smile. But she’s noticeably more reserved than when dealing with other department heads!
NTsoft’s finance department may have lost some of its clout, but as a veteran employee who’s seen the epic “monster mentor-student” battles against SATE back in the day, Nogi knows full well that the calm, chrysanthemum-like woman before her is a terrifying “queen” who’s more like a white peony!
Sensing Nogi’s unease, Chika Ohara gives a faint smile, sips her oolong tea, and says, “They say the general shapes the soldiers, but it seems your sub-director’s personality is quite different from yours.”
“Sub-Director Ohara, I—”
“Relax, I’m just teasing.” Chika chuckles, nodding. “Approval’s done. I’ll reach out to Bank President Toshio to speed things up. The funds should be ready by 4 PM. Go tell your sub-director.”
“Yes, yes, thank you, Sub-Director Ohara! I’ll head out then!”
“Hm.”
With a calm nod, Chika waits until the door closes before setting down her teacup and turning her gaze to the computer screen.
Watching the scrolling data, she smirks. “They weren’t planning a big promotional push, but the second an opportunity pops up, they react this fast. Truly birds of a feather.”
Images of Mitei Miyano and Tetsu Fuyukawa flash in her mind. Sipping her tea and leaning back in her chair, hands resting on her lap, Chika’s smile deepens. “He’s… definitely a unique, gutsy guy.”
Her calm eyes glance at the ceiling for a moment before she sits back up, clicking the blinking orange game icon at the bottom of her screen—Diver Dave.
“This game’s quality… Fujiko’s probably gonna drag me out for drinks tonight.”
“Ugh, drinking with her is so boring. I’ll find an excuse to skip and just keep playing.”
Muttering complaints while guiding the chubby protagonist to fish underwater, Chika’s usually cool eyes start sparkling with the joy of “damn, playing a good game feels so freaking great.”
