No matter what the outside world says, sales figures never lie.
There was no chance that the sales numbers released by Gamestar Electronic Entertainment were fake.
Suirui Electronics' intelligence network could easily gather rough estimates of this kind of information. Even if the data wasn't 100% accurate, the general range would be clear. So when Gamestar openly released the sales numbers of multiple games and consoles, it genuinely shocked a lot of people.
Gamestar was selling more than five million game cartridges every week.
And that was during a period with no major new game releases.
If it were a big launch week, like for Super Mario or Final Fantasy, the total sales in a single week would easily exceed ten million copies.
Even with five million copies a week, Gamestar would still be making huge profits just from royalties alone.
After seeing these figures, Suirui Electronics went completely silent.
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How is anyone supposed to compete with numbers like that?
All their past efforts to fight back were childish in comparison. They hadn't even touched Gamestar's foundation.
Just look at the FC console—even now it's selling in the tens or even hundreds of thousands each week. Who the hell is still buying such an outdated product?
In developed and developing countries, sure, the FC is definitely obsolete.
But in third-world countries, the FC has become their cheapest form of entertainment.
The total cost to produce and package one FC console is less than two dollars, and for another five dollars, you can access the entire FC game library.
That's how people in third-world countries enjoy gaming.
Almost no companies care about these regions, but Gamestar has kept at it.
And there's no profit in doing so—in fact, sending these consoles overseas comes with extra transportation costs, making it a money-losing effort.
To outsiders, it's completely baffling.
If this were a typical large corporation, the shareholders would've pulled the plug long ago.
Activities that don't generate profit are seen as garbage, something to be discarded immediately.
But Gamestar keeps doing it anyway.
After these sales figures appeared on their official website, a sudden wave of seemingly organized fan groups emerged on multiple platforms—especially on social media like Facebook.
They began spreading the same message in what felt like a viral marketing blitz.
The message?Gamestar Electronic Entertainment is a company that brings joy to the world. A company of pure intentions.
Some even began trying to mythologize Gamestar and Takayuki himself.
But Takayuki had already achieved near-mythical status, so there wasn't much further to go. Still, the number of people idolizing him kept growing.
In video game journalism and related media, Gamestar was suddenly the headline darling.
They openly praised both Takayuki and the company's actions.
They said he had truly delivered on the promise of bringing happiness to humanity.
As for the negative effects of video games? Those needed to be looked at with more objectivity, they said.
Takayuki himself was confused. He didn't remember hiring anyone to spread the word like this.
He had just told his team to boost the company's presence on social media a bit.
But unexpectedly, people had started promoting Gamestar entirely on their own, which—well, that was a pretty nice surprise.
"Mr. Takayuki is amazing... even if he's losing money, he still wants to bring joy to the entire world."
In the apartment she shared with two other girls, Kazumi wiped away tears, deeply moved.
Lately, video games had been getting hit with a lot of criticism.
Hardly anyone was willing to step up and defend them.
Most companies had chosen to give in.
Only someone like Takayuki had the courage to stand tall.
And the truth was, he had the power to back it up.
The profitability of video games wasn't going to change just because of a few harsh words from critics.
Gamestar's development capacity was on a completely different level compared to other companies.
So far, only Suirui Electronics' development team could even remotely compete with Takayuki's team.
As of now, Gamestar had over 10,000 employees working in game development alone.
While other companies were still cautiously feeling their way into the industry, Takayuki had already grown into a colossus.
While others were still on the road to becoming giants, he had already become the ancestor of giants.
So naturally, most gamers today choose Gamestar, because their games are just that good.
Meanwhile, development on Ring Fit Adventure was still moving forward. Gamestar's dev team seemed completely unfazed, as if outside criticism meant nothing. No matter what the public said, they just kept working steadily.
Why? Because they trusted their president—Takayuki.
They believed that he would handle the outside world, while they focused on making great games.
Developing Ring Fit itself wasn't especially difficult—the real challenge was combining hardware and software seamlessly.
Haruto Fuyunojirou scratched his head more than once.
Still, with his skills, it was only a matter of time before he cracked the issue.
But Takayuki didn't want to wait that long.
So, he simply asked his wife, Aya Tsukino, to jump in and help with Ring Fit's development.
At the same time, Gamestar's advertising strategy was quietly shifting across the internet and traditional media.
Gamestar had long been a major advertiser, spending over $100 million a year on promotions—for games, consoles, and even documentary-style public service campaigns.
These documentaries offered a different perspective on Gamestar's mission.
For example: how they worked to bridge gaps between people through gaming, and foster communication across cultures.
But now, all those flashy ads suddenly stopped—replaced by a whole new wave of ads.
Gone were the dazzling effects and bombastic music. In their place came a tone that was gentler and warmer.
On a massive digital billboard in downtown Japan, one moment you'd see a flashy battle scene from a game—but then the music would suddenly soften.
In the light rain, a white-collar worker hurrying home would instinctively stop and look up.
On the screen appeared a face familiar to nearly everyone—
Aika Kamimura, a superstar actress who had starred in numerous hit shows and movies. She was one of the hottest names in entertainment.