[Game] Chapter 398-400

### Chapter 398: Boss Demonstration

When it came to music—especially composition—Ichin had always been self-studying. But since he was usually swamped with work, his learning efficiency hadn’t been all that great.

Still, for a small game like BattleBlock Theater, his skills were more than enough to handle the soundtrack.

Of course, if it were something on the scale of Dark Souls, then his current level wouldn’t cut it. He would need to keep studying much more.

For the music side of things, he had already partnered with a company they’d worked with before. The other party had been preparing well in advance, so things didn’t feel rushed.

Two months to prepare a grand, orchestral soundtrack was a trivial task for a professional studio.

As for Titanfall, Ichin could always reach out to a music studio in Shanghai—there were plenty of skilled professionals there too.

“TGA, huh. Ichin-kun, your company is really getting more and more amazing. That’s so wonderful.”

On Friday, Sayuri Sawamura brought over a pile of snacks as gifts and, seeing the company bustling with energy, spoke with heartfelt admiration.

Ichin bit into a cookie and shook his head. “Not really. We’re still far from there. At the very least, we haven’t reached the point of contending for Game of the Year yet. But once Dark Souls releases… maybe there’s some hope.”

Dark-themed games came out every year, but none had ever managed to establish a world and gameplay structure like Dark Souls. On top of that, thanks to the company’s top-tier artists, Ichin planned to make their art style even stronger than the Dark Souls he remembered.

The architectural styles, monster designs, humanoid enemy armor and weapons—everything had to be polished to perfection.

And of course, no Dark Souls-style game could be complete without dragons.

In the original Dark Souls 3, even counting DLC, there weren’t many dragons. But Ichin wasn’t about to let players off the hook that easily. He intended to add several more dragons, each with unique characteristics, as optional elite bosses in certain areas.

They wouldn’t be mandatory fights—Ichin designed many routes that allowed players to bypass them. But those who fought and won would obtain rare, high-quality weapons and items.

A unique boss ought to drop something special, right?

Ichin despised the kind of design where you slog through a brutal boss battle only to be rewarded with a few scraps—no proper feedback at all.

Back when he played Breath of the Wild, he often felt this frustration: clearing a monster camp, conquering a shrine, finally opening a chest—only to find a flimsy weapon or a couple of ores. By the latter half of the game, he barely felt motivated to open chests anymore.

That’s why, in all the games he’d developed so far, positive player feedback was something he valued deeply.

The tougher the enemy, the greater the reward.

Of course, shortcuts existed in Dark Souls. But if players chose them, they’d naturally miss out on valuable rewards—that was only fair.

And giving good loot never meant Ichin would compromise on difficulty. When it came to setting up tough challenges, he wasn’t going to hold back.

After chatting with Sayuri for a while, Ichin went over to Hajime Shinodada’s desk. He asked her to pause her work and gathered the rest of the action team for a meeting.

“I looked over the motion set you submitted for Iudex Gundyr. It still needs some refinement.”

He had Shinoda pull up the completed animations, pointing at Gundyr on the screen. “Here—the weapon swing. Add half a second more wind-up. Stop making everything so straightforward. Did you already forget what I told you about varying attack speed—fast and slow strikes?”

Shinoda’s mouth twitched. “But… this is the first boss, right? Isn’t that a bit too hard right at the start?”

“Is it?” Ichin replied calmly. “Don’t forget, there’s also the ‘Champion Gundyr’ later. I’ve already had you cut down plenty for this first version. The real challenge comes from the player’s limited healing items early on, paired with higher enemy damage. As long as players pay attention to the animations, it’s not too difficult. Even the fast-slow swings can be dealt with—just defend properly or create distance. Remember, this game is built around boss fights. Every boss must have distinct mechanics. I’m not spamming mobs in the exploration parts, so the boss battles need to stand out even more.”

Hearing him out, the programmers nodded in agreement.

After dismissing the others, Ichin continued discussing Shinoda’s other boss projects before returning to his office.

The maps for the later zones were mostly complete but still fragmented. They needed integration, and Ichin took that task upon himself—along with some additional revisions.

One week later, in the company’s conference room.

Everyone was gathered, eyes fixed on the large screen where a test program was running. The content: a boss fight against Vordt of the Boreal Valley—nicknamed the “Ice Dog” by players.

For the demonstration, they didn’t just show animations. The entire boss arena had been integrated into a test build.

The demonstrator, Shinoda, controlled a starting knight character—basic armor, straight sword, and medium shield, no upgrades at all.

Though she was the one who created this boss, the action patterns were all Ichin’s designs. That alone made her nervous as she showcased the fight.

When the Ice Dog unleashed its relentless charge attack, even Shinoda—an experienced action gamer—panicked. She quickly raised her shield, but after a few rushes, her stamina bar was drained. The Ice Dog followed up with a massive hammer strike, instantly wiping out half her health bar. Game over.

“Ahh! I died!”

Shinoda let out a frustrated sigh at the black-and-white death screen.

Meanwhile, the others watching were buzzing with excitement.

“Heh, I built this stage!”

“The boss stats were my tuning! Too bad she’s using base gear. If the weapon was upgraded and the level higher, it wouldn’t be that bad.”

“Dream on. With those rabid dog-like moves, even veterans are gonna struggle at first.”

Though Shinoda failed the demo, the sheer sense of oppression from the boss left Ichin very satisfied.

Clapping his hands, he announced, “Alright, switch to the next one. Next up is Dragonslayer Armor.”

***

Chapter 399: The TGA Begins

The promotional PV to be used at TGA naturally couldn’t showcase every single boss from the games Ichin’s company was developing—only a select few would be revealed.

So, after finalizing the PV’s contents, Ichin adjusted the production order of the bosses, moving a few forward to ensure they’d be ready first.

As everyone stayed completely focused, December quietly arrived.

This time, since they had received an official invitation, they would be attending the TGA awards ceremony in person.

Although the holidays hadn’t started yet, Ichin’s leave request was approved without any issue—he took an entire week off. Not only him, but Utaha’s leave was also approved, so the two of them could go together to Los Angeles.

Alongside them, Hazuki, Kō Yagami, and Rin Toyama would also be going.

There had originally been one more spot available, but after hours of discussion, no one could agree on who should take it. In the end, they simply left it unused. So, the group totaled five people.

As for Los Angeles itself, Ichin wasn’t particularly interested. If not for the TGA, he might never have considered visiting the U.S. in his life.

The reason was simple—it wasn’t safe.

After all, the so-called “freedom country” had daily shootouts; that wasn’t an exaggeration. Ichin wasn’t about to gamble with his own life, even if the odds of something happening were slim.

On December 9th, at 8:30 in the morning, everyone gathered early at the company.

Yawning, Eriri sipped from a milk bottle in her hand, glancing at Aoba who was adjusting the projector.

“Isn’t it still more than half an hour before it starts? Why so early?”

“This is the TGA! Of course we have to take it seriously!”

Turning after aligning the projection, Aoba looked at Eriri and said, “I even told you yesterday—you only needed to be here five minutes before it starts. But didn’t you still come this early?”

“…Fair point. I guess I’m a little excited too.”

Draining the last of her milk, Eriri stretched and muttered, “Good thing it’s Saturday and there’s no school today, otherwise I wouldn’t even be able to watch the livestream.”

Others arrived around the same time, all carrying simple breakfasts like bread and biscuits—clearly they had skipped making food at home just so they could come early to the office.

Sitting beside Eriri, Sakura Nene typed a message on her phone to Kō Yagami in Los Angeles. The reply came quickly.

“They’re already at the venue,” Nene announced happily. “She says there are tons of famous game developers there!”

“Hey, did you ask if they saw Gabe Newell?”

“Probably not. He hasn’t shown up in person for the past few years.”

“What a shame. Isn’t he working on the Steam handheld? If we met him, maybe we’d even have a chance to get our hands on a prototype.”

The Steam handheld had already been announced, though its release was set for next year.

Compared to the Nintendo Switch, it was bulkier and heavier, but the specs were far stronger. Unlike other so-called Windows handhelds, it was a dedicated Steam machine designed to run nearly the entire Steam library smoothly.

Sure, some brand-new AAA titles might struggle to maintain 60 FPS, but 30 FPS was realistic enough. And with only a 1280x800 display, combined with the CPU and GPU performance revealed so far, the system seemed perfectly capable.

As for whether it would threaten the Switch, Ichin and the rest of the company didn’t think so.

Despite the Steam handheld entering the market, the Switch still had a dominant share, a competitive price, and Nintendo’s unbeatable first-party lineup.

It was more of an alternative option rather than a replacement or rival on equal footing.

Listening to the discussion, Hajime chimed in, “It’s not without merit though. If we could apply for a dev kit, that’d be worth it. Ichin, Hazuki—maybe you should reach out. Our games sell pretty well on Steam; getting in contact shouldn’t be hard.”

With that, she lost interest in the topic and wandered off toward the nearby cat tower.

Because of the Los Angeles trip, Ichin’s two cats, Hazuki’s Mozuku, and one of Kō’s cats had all been left with Eriri for pet-sitting. Naturally, when she came today, she brought all four to the company. Combined with Yukino’s cats, the office was currently hosting nine cats in total.

Even if there wasn’t a TGA livestream to watch, just playing with cats in the office was enough to keep everyone entertained.

Time ticked by, and at 9:00 a.m., the official TGA streaming channel went live with its countdown.

With countless players worldwide waiting in excitement, at 9:30, the countdown ended—the TGA had officially begun.

As the livestream switched to the grand theater hosting the ceremony, everyone immediately began searching the crowd for Ichin and his team.

Not only those in the company but also thousands of Chinese players watching from home were eagerly awaiting this TGA.

Aside from giants like Tencent and NetEase, Ichin’s company had quickly become one of the most impressive Chinese developers in recent years.

Of course, the fact that one of their studios was based in Tokyo was undeniable, and Ichin had never tried to hide it. But as long as he was the boss and the lead on the projects, that was enough.

Soon after the opening performances, the host appeared, and the annual TGA Game Awards officially kicked off.

With over twenty categories, mid-show entertainment, and new game trailers sprinkled throughout, every segment was designed to captivate.

At the venue, Ichin sat calmly with Utaha beside him, her arm linked through his.

In the past two days, even though he hadn’t spent much time sightseeing, Ichin had met several well-known developers at the hotel. They had long discussions about game design philosophies, and Ichin felt he’d gained a lot from those exchanges.

Leaning gently against his shoulder, Utaha whispered, “It’s starting, Ichin.”

“Yeah, it’s starting. But don’t worry—the first few awards probably don’t involve us.”

No sooner had he said that than the nominations for Best Game Soundtrack flashed onscreen. Among them was Persona.

“And the award for Best Game Soundtrack goes to… Persona!”

“…???”

Ichin froze. This one too?

He had no choice—amidst congratulations from the new friends he’d made in the industry and under their encouragement, Ichin embraced Utaha and Hazuki beside him, then rose from his seat and headed toward the stage.

***

### Chapter 400: Titanfall Revealed

After stepping on stage and receiving his first trophy of the day, Ichin paused for a moment. Facing the audience, he spoke fluent English:

“Hello everyone, I’m Ichin, the producer of Persona. Honestly, I’m a little surprised to have won this award. I’ve played all the other nominated games, and their soundtracks were all outstanding. I’m truly happy to receive this recognition. These past few days, I’ve met many game developers and had wonderful exchanges with them. I hope in the future, I’ll have more chances to stand here again. Thank you.”

The host beside him chuckled, “Oh, I think you definitely will—because the next trailer we’re showing has something to do with you as well.”

“So soon?”

Ichin blinked. He knew both of his company’s new games had trailers scheduled to air at different points of the event, but he hadn’t expected one to follow right after his award.

Nodding, he turned to the camera and said, “Then, please look forward to our upcoming new title.”

After stepping down, he handed the trophy to Hazuki, letting everyone in their group take turns admiring it.

Meanwhile, the massive screen on stage lit up as the trailer began to play.

Players watching the livestream all over the world held their breath in anticipation as the logo appeared.

First came explosions—space battles unfolding outside a planet, futuristic warships exchanging heavy fire. Then, a hatch opened, dropping multiple pods that streaked down toward the planet’s surface.

The scene shifted to the ground, where intense combat was already underway. As the pods landed, squads of soldiers in specialized helmets stormed out, weapons ready, immediately joining the fight.

A defending soldier, distracted by the sudden reinforcements, was blown away when a grenade shattered his cover. As he was thrown back, he glimpsed one of the newcomers rocket forward with a jetpack blazing, charging headlong at the enemy.

The camera followed this soldier—the “Pilot.” A narrator’s voice entered:

“On this battlefield, the Pilot is the deadliest force.”

Wall-running, grappling, sliding, cloaking, close-quarters combat—one ability after another was showcased, gripping the audience’s attention.

After single-handedly clearing an enemy outpost, the Pilot sprinted to the far side of a building—only for a massive shadow to descend from the sky.

“But what truly sets Pilots apart from infantry and machines alike… is their bond with Titans.”

The dust cleared, revealing a towering humanoid mech. Gasps filled the venue as it caught the Pilot in one hand, opened its cockpit, and placed him inside. Pilot and Titan became one. The Titan raised its mechanical arm, projecting an energy shield that absorbed a hail of incoming fire.

From a side building, more enemies opened fire. Inside, the Pilot activated another ability, halting the stream of bullets midair before flinging them back in a devastating counterattack that leveled an entire structure.

The battle escalated—no longer just soldiers against soldiers, but Titans clashing in massive, earth-shaking combat.

Giant robots—no matter how many decades they’ve appeared in sci-fi—remained an irresistibly thrilling spectacle. Heavy steel armor, humanoid forms, overwhelming firepower; everything about them had the audience, both live and online, wide-eyed.

The narration was revealed to belong to a regular infantry soldier in the Frontier Defense War. The trailer concluded with a bare-knuckle Titan brawl against an enemy blade-wielding Titan.

At the end, the title appeared on screen:

Developed by YC Games (Shanghai Studio)

Release Date: 2024

When the trailer ended, the cameras cut straight to the audience, zooming in on Ichin’s group.

Seeing himself on screen, Ichin stood and gave a polite bow to the hall.

After sitting back down, Hazuki whispered, “Looks like the first reveal was a success.”

“A shooter with giant robots—it’s almost guaranteed to make a splash,” Ichin murmured back. “But the real test will be how people react once we show actual gameplay.”

Turning to Kō Yagami beside Hazuki, he asked, “Kō, how’s the online response?”

“On YouTube and Bilibili, the discussions are already blowing up. And after the trailer aired here, our company’s channels will be uploading it separately. It should go live any minute now.”

Of course, TGA was mainly about the awards—the trailers were just part of the show.

Following the Titanfall reveal, the next award was for Best Game Direction, which went to Alan Wake 2, a title that had sparked plenty of discussion after its release.

The gameplay was indeed impressive—players reliving loops, learning, and ultimately assassinating eight key targets in a single day. Ichin had tried it himself after launch and found it well made. The only downside? “That damn discount came way too fast,” he thought. “Barely a month after release, and already on sale. What was the dev team thinking?”

More awards followed, along with a handful of new game trailers. The ones Ichin paid most attention to were the new entries in Battlefield and Call of Duty.

Not that he particularly liked either franchise, but he was curious—would they still flop as hard as before?

Especially Call of Duty. With Microsoft acquiring Activision Blizzard, many believed the next CoD would mark the franchise’s grand comeback. Ichin, however, was skeptical.

The trailer shown tonight? Just CGI. No gameplay. No title. Not even a release window.

“…Not exactly reassuring,” he thought.

Of course, when it came to gameplay footage, Ichin knew he wasn’t in much of a position to judge others.

A few more categories were announced—then Persona struck again. Twice.

Best Narrative.

Best Role-Playing Game.

Ichin almost suspected the organizers were messing with him. Each time he sat down, he barely had time to breathe before being called back on stage.

Still, there was no helping it—awards had to be accepted.

Handing the still-warm Best Narrative trophy to Utaha, Ichin adjusted his suit and, for the third time that night, rose from his seat and walked toward the stage.

***