[Game] Chapter 395-397

### Chapter 395: Official Website, Engine Release

The meeting lasted for about an hour. After going through the tests conducted by Akane Kosaka’s development team, they concluded that the engine was easy to pick up, well-optimized in every aspect, and entirely capable of being used directly for the game they had planned.

With that conclusion made, Akane Kosaka stood up and extended her hand toward Ichin.

“Then, Ichin-kun, I look forward to working with you.”

“Same here.”

Ichin smiled as he shook her hand, and the two quickly signed an agreement.

Although the agreement was settled, there were still some modifications pending on the engine, so it was scheduled to be delivered to them within a week.

That timing worked out perfectly—it would give them enough time to get the official website up and running. Once launched, the engine could be downloaded directly from the site, all data connected to the company’s servers.

After seeing Akane Kosaka off, Ichin turned to Sakura Nene, gently patting her head.

“Right now it’s just one company, and they haven’t officially started renting it yet. But once our engine spreads through promotion, and when games developed with it are released—if even one or two titles go viral—you’ll become quite the little rich lady.”

Hearing that, Nene couldn’t help puffing up with pride. After all, the engine she developed was finally going to be promoted. And she had confidence—it was an engine independent developers would definitely find useful.

The others gathered around as well. Aoba, her childhood friend, beamed.

“That’s amazing, Nene! Your engine is going to be used by so many people!”

“Hehehe… it’s not that impressive,” Nene said, her cheeks slightly flushed. “Getting the engine to this level is thanks to Umiko-nee and Ichin-kun. I couldn’t have done it alone. Ah, right! I need to call Umiko-nee and tell her the good news properly!”

Ichin nodded.

“Yeah, definitely let her know. She’ll be thrilled. Go on.”

Watching Nene dash off excitedly with her phone, Hazuki muttered softly,

“That’s really wonderful.”

Ichin agreed with a nod.

“It is. But Hazuki, we can’t stop here—the website isn’t finished yet. Let’s get back to work.”

“Right, right, back to work then. Oh, Ichin, by the way—the company’s snack stash is running low. Want me to have HR restock?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Although the recent recruitment had increased the number of male employees a little, the company was still female-majority, and most of them were easy on the eyes.

One natural side effect of having more women in the office was that snacks—the little perk of company welfare—disappeared quickly, requiring frequent restocking. But with the company operating smoothly, snacks were a minor expense. If such a cost could keep morale high during work, Ichin was more than willing to cover it.

The only pity was the limited office space. If the place were bigger, he would’ve set up more facilities—like an in-house cafeteria staffed with chefs.

Unfortunately, the current office didn’t allow for that.

Glancing around the office floor, Ichin estimated that within three years—once Dark Souls and Titanfall released and the company expanded further—they could move into a bigger place, perhaps even their own standalone building.

A five-story office sounded ideal: the first floor as a reception lobby and cafeteria, the upper floors divided into departments with their own workspaces, plus a lounge area and a fitness section.

“Clicking my tongue… maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. A place that big isn’t needed right now.”

His muttering was overheard by Utaha, who had silently appeared beside him.

“What isn’t needed, Ichin?” she asked curiously.

“Ah, I was talking about the company’s future office building.”

Taking her hand, he led her back to the office while explaining his vision in detail.

After hearing him out, Utaha chuckled.

“Isn’t that a great idea? The future office can definitely be designed like that. In Tokyo, there are plenty of office buildings of that size, so finding one isn’t impossible. And even if there isn’t a perfect match, don’t forget—Yukino’s family is in construction. As long as we have the land, we could commission them to build it. With our relationship, it wouldn’t even be that expensive.”

“That’s true, finding one wouldn’t be difficult,” Ichin admitted with a smile, pinching her cheek. “But at least not until a year and a half later, once the two games we’re developing release. Only then will we have enough cash flow to move.”

Although Persona had brought in a massive profit, between ongoing development, daily operations, and the current team size, relocating wasn’t necessary yet.

At most, planning ahead now would make future execution easier.

“Alright, I need to get back to work. Utaha, if you get bored, go hang out with Ko and the others.”

“Mm. If I get bored, I’ll head out.”

Settling back down, Ichin immersed himself in work again, while Utaha quietly pulled out a textbook to read.

A week passed in the blink of an eye. The official website was successfully launched, featuring introductions, trailers, and platform links for all their released games—alongside the download for their self-developed engine.

After some discussion, the engine’s name was decided: they used Sakura Nene’s surname and simply called it “Sakura.” The current release was version 1.0, with future updates planned for improvements and feature expansion.

Once everything was set, the company announced the website launch on social media, along with details of the engine’s release and its revenue-sharing policy for commercial use.

Game engines were always a hot topic among players, but for indie developers, understanding them was a necessity.

Soon, word spread. Independent developers quickly took notice of the engine. Upon learning that The Binding of Isaac and BattleBlock Theater had both been made with it, they rushed to download it for research.

After tinkering with it, heated discussions broke out in indie dev chat groups about its scope of use.

Easy to pick up. Highly adaptable. Low hardware requirements. Not suited for 3D—but most indie games weren’t 3D anyway.

“This engine… might really work!”

Almost immediately, several indie studios planning new titles decided they’d develop with the Sakura Engine.

***

### Chapter 396: Selected for TGA

After the official website went live, the backend showed that traffic was steadily increasing—though not explosively so.

After all, their site was fairly simple: it introduced their games and provided downloads for their engine. Nothing more.

—Wait, they could also add links to their merchandise store!

Thinking of that, Ichin had the programming team put in a bit of extra work, adding Amazon and Taobao links directly onto the official site.

Whether it made much of a difference or not didn’t matter—at least it was there.

“Speaking of merchandise…”

After browsing the site, Hazuki glanced at Ichin.

“It looks like our Persona figures are skyrocketing in price on the secondhand market.”

“Can’t be helped. High-quality figures are always expensive, and with low production runs, prices naturally go up.”

Ichin really didn’t have much of a solution.

Figures were different from model kits. With kits, you had molds—once the mold was made, mass production through injection molding was easy.

Figures, especially highly detailed ones like the Persona series, were different. The facial features, the intricate costume paintwork—all of that required painstaking handcrafting.

Ichin would’ve loved to lower the price so more people could buy them, but that just wasn’t possible. Maintaining quality meant avoiding cheap outsourcing, and the labor cost and production limits were fixed.

Weighing the options, Ichin had chosen to prioritize quality first, quantity second.

Now that Persona figures were being scalped high in the secondhand market, there wasn’t much he could do to fight it. His only hope was that with later preorder batches, the increased supply would bring down the resell prices.

At least those who preordered from their official shop were guaranteed figures at the original price. As for players who went to scalpers for overpriced “ready stock,” it was just like with Gunpla enthusiasts paying premium for instant availability—there was no way to stop them.

“Let’s just wait. Once more batches go out, things should settle down. The market isn’t something we can control.”

Shaking his head, Ichin dropped the matter and turned his attention to the programming department.

There were some minor issues with Dark Souls’ system that needed his input.

By the time October rolled around, the gaming industry hadn’t seen any huge waves.

Well, except one—The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild 2.

Nintendo’s flagship IP sequel had launched earlier that year, and even now in October it was still sitting firmly in the top three of Japan’s weekly sales charts every single week, with no sign of dropping.

Meanwhile, Persona—released back in May—still occasionally popped up on the weekly sales charts, and even more often on Steam’s bestseller rankings.

Since it hadn’t even been half a year yet, there was no way they were going to discount it. At earliest, they’d consider a winter sale around the end of the year.

As for Dark Souls, development was progressing smoothly, aside from a few small hiccups.

The base was built following Dark Souls 3, but unlike DS3, where a single patch would give birth to entire new “churches” of weapon metas, Ichin hoped this time would be a true “hundred flowers bloom” situation.

That’s why he didn’t hand weapon balancing to anyone else—he insisted on handling it personally.

From the early “Straight Sword Church,” to later cults like the “Drumstick Church” and “Great Curved Sword,” every style had its strengths. By late-game, countless special playstyles had been developed as well.

Ichin actually disliked it when a certain playstyle became overwhelmingly powerful. That always made one approach stand out too much while rendering other weapon types unpopular.

A well-known example was Monster Hunter’s longsword—especially in Rise. With just a “Sheath 3” longsword, you could pretty much play through the entire game, while other weapons suffered from terrible balance and shallow gameplay, like the Insect Glaive or Lance.

Dark Souls, however, had a huge variety of weapons. Ichin wanted each type to feel rewarding after upgrades, something players could use to clear the game. He wanted people to experiment with different weapons—not just rely on one straight sword and a shield to brute-force the entire journey.

“Balance, huh…”

Staring at the 3D models of a pair of newly made weapons, Ichin’s head buzzed. This was going to be a massive undertaking.

Luckily, The Binding of Isaac was already finished, and he didn’t have to worry about updates for now. That gave him the space to fully focus on weapon values, animation modules, and battle arts—like the massive smoke greatsword he was tweaking.

Just as he was deep in thought, there was a knock at the office door.

“Come in,” Ichin called without looking up.

The door opened, and Hazuki walked in.

“Ichin, I’ve got some news for you.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“This year’s TGA game awards—the organizers have invited us. Our Persona has been nominated for Best RPG of the Year and Game of the Year.”

“TGA?”

Hearing that, Ichin finally lifted his head.

Of course he knew about The Game Awards, and naturally he’d attend. It was just that last year they hadn’t released anything, being fully buried in Persona’s development—so their moment had to wait until this year.

“Hazuki, when you say invited, do you mean they want us to attend in person?”

“That’s right. They want us at the live ceremony,” Hazuki confirmed. “They told me that unless something unexpected happens, we’re basically guaranteed Best RPG this year, and Best Game Music is also a possibility. As for Game of the Year…”

“No need to say it—I know we’re probably just a runner-up there. After all, Breath of the Wild 2 launched this year.”

Though BOTW2 hadn’t leapt as far ahead of its predecessor as people hoped, its depth of gameplay was undeniable. As an RPG, Persona couldn’t really compete head-to-head in that aspect, and Ichin never expected to claim the overall crown.

Besides, whether or not they won Game of the Year, Persona’s sales were already on track to hit well over ten million copies.

Stretching his arms, Ichin said,

“In that case, Hazuki, go ahead and let them know. We’ll be there.”

“No problem.”

Hazuki smiled and nodded.

“So, how many of us should go?”

“Hmm…” Ichin thought for a moment. “Well, you definitely need to come with me. Aside from us, let’s add Utaha, and maybe two or three more people. We’ll confirm later.”

“Alright, I’ll reply for now. We can finalize the attendees later.”

After Hazuki left, Ichin turned his attention back to his work.

“The TGA… they usually have trailer segments, don’t they? That means we should put together announcement videos for Dark Souls and Titanfall. Such a good opportunity can’t be wasted.”

Thinking that, Ichin immediately messaged Hazuki through the company’s internal chat.

After getting her quick “OK,” he sent word straight to the Shanghai studio.

***

### Chapter 397: Best RPG of the Year, and a Company That Still Doesn’t Do Overtime

Development on Titanfall was also going smoothly. The shooting in particular felt great—thanks to Umiko, a veteran who’d studied FPS design for years, the gunplay was dialed in perfectly.

As for the Titans, while not every class was finished yet, the protagonist unit BT-7274 had been fully designed, and work on the remaining Titans and level layouts was progressing in parallel.

When the Shanghai studio received Ichin’s message that they’d be unveiling the game’s PV at The Game Awards, the whole team lit up.

Say what you will about Western games media being pretty cash‑grabby in recent years, TGA still draws the attention of players around the world every December.

Announcing a new title on that stage guarantees a ton of eyeballs.

And who doesn’t want the game they’ve poured their hearts into to spread across the globe?

So the Shanghai team kicked into high gear, throwing themselves even harder into development.

The Tokyo studio reacted the same way. Once word got around that Persona had been selected for December’s TGA, the office buzzed with excitement.

Everyone had full confidence in Persona’s quality—Best RPG of the Year felt like a sure thing.

As for the other categories like Game of the Year, they were as laid‑back as Ichin: great if they won, no big deal if they didn’t. Odds were it would go to Breath of the Wild 2 anyway.

But prizes weren’t the main point. The most important part was the trailer segment at the ceremony.

BattleBlock Theater would launch in November, so there was no need to air a trailer for it. Dark Souls and Titanfall, though—those absolutely needed fresh content over the next two months to cut into irresistible announcement trailers.

Practically overnight, both studios shifted into high-speed mode. Everyone squeezed every productive minute out of their workday to make sure those TGA trailers would land.

“Of course, there’s still no need to work overtime.”

At 7 p.m., in a yakiniku place, Ichin, Utaha, Kou Yagami, Rin Tōyama, Aoba, and Hifumi sat around the grill, happily demolishing a meat feast.

The restaurant was run by Chinese owners and blended styles from different regions. The sauces especially came in every variety.

Snipping two big slices of grilled pork belly and dividing them up, Ichin dipped his pieces into a dry spice mix, wrapped them in lettuce, took a bite, and said, “Overtime just burns the energy you need for the next day. Clock out on time, eat something good, go home to relax and play a bit, sleep well, then show up the next morning full of energy—what’s wrong with that? I’ll never get why people here are so obsessed with overtime. Makes no sense.”

Kou felt that one deep in her bones.

“Tradition, I guess—but not a good one, looking back.”

Mouth full of grilled meat, she added, “Honestly, life’s better now. Ever since I joined your team, my schedule’s fixed, my body feels lighter, even my skin’s better. Back then I was literally sleeping at the office for about half the month.”

Aoba nodded vigorously.

“Totally. I still remember when I first joined Eagle Jump, getting to the office early and seeing Kou-senpai sleeping under her desk. Scared me half to death!”

Rin chimed in from the side,

“Right. She kept pulling all‑nighters at the office. I told her off so many times, but she never listened, so I ended up staying with her a few nights.”

The company now was nothing like the old days. Nobody slept at the office anymore. At most, if a task wasn’t quite done, someone might stay an extra hour or two—but pulling past midnight? No chance.

A lot of the married guys even praised the system, saying it let them go home early to be with their families, keeping communication alive and their home life warm and steady.

From another angle, you could say Ichin had actually saved a few families that might’ve run into trouble.

Sipping oolong tea, Utaha smiled.

“I agree—no overtime is best. We already work all day; there’s no need to keep going at night. And don’t get me started on those who deliberately push daytime tasks into the evening just to rack up overtime pay. Isn’t it way nicer to relax like this and eat together?”

That logic might be obvious, but few companies actually manage it.

After the pork belly, they moved on to beef tongue—and the main event: two hefty, beautifully marbled steaks.

When those steaks hit the grill, everyone’s eyes lit up, and they couldn’t help swallowing.

Since the boss was treating, Ichin went for the good stuff. The people at this table were the backbone of the company; he wasn’t going to be stingy.

After they’d eaten their fill, everyone headed home.

Hifumi had just gotten her driver’s license and bought a car, so she gave Aoba a lift.

Back home, Utaha went to shower first. Ichin checked on the two cats who’d stayed in, confirmed they’d eaten and used the litter box properly, then headed into the bedroom.

He powered up his PC and logged into QQ. The big single‑player game chat groups where he lurked were already buzzing about this year’s TGA.

It was October, and next month the nominee lists would be out—of course people were talking.

He lurked for a bit, saved a few spicy pics the old hands had posted, then opened Steam and booted up The Binding of Isaac.

One perk of being the developer: even you can’t rig your own starts.

Luck smiled on him today—opening room Brimstone. Time for a laser build.

Halfway through the run, Utaha came back from her shower. Ichin handed her the controls, grabbed his change of clothes and pajamas, and went to the bathroom.

Soaking in the tub, he quietly mapped out the next two months.

Dark Souls needed more of his attention. To cut a powerful trailer, they’d need grand set pieces, plus some large monsters in playable shape. With two installments planned back‑to‑back, Bloodborne on deck, and even Elden Ring on the long‑term roadmap, the “Souls” line had to be nailed.

As for Titanfall, he didn’t need to worry much—Umiko was his handpicked lead. With her watching it, that side was covered.

“Trailers, huh… then I need to get in touch with our partner studio about the music and start hammering out the cues we’ll use.”

Counting it all up, there was plenty to do—on top of his university coursework.

***