The bigger a company is, the more likely it is to both compete with other companies and still have to rely on its competitors' products.
Take Micfo, for example. Under mounting pressure, Myron Case finally committed to supporting game development and set up his own internal team.
This team was still very green. While a few members had solid experience in game development, the team as a whole remained relatively immature.
To speed up development, Myron had no choice but to pay a large sum—around ten million dollars annually—for the rights to use the Unreal Engine.
The cost stung, but there was no other option. His team simply wasn't capable enough yet.
If they tried to develop their own game engine from scratch, it would've required even more investment and resources. Buying the license for a mature engine was the smarter move.
According to his team's analysis, building a game engine on par with Unreal from the ground up could cost upwards of a billion dollars or more.
And that was a number Myron Case just couldn't accept right now.
He figured they'd wait until the gaming division became profitable before making that kind of investment.
Micfo wasn't alone in this logic. Many companies that licensed the Unreal Engine found themselves growing dependent on it. Once they got used to its ease of use and versatility across different game genres, they couldn't go back.
Just look at Sorei Electronics. Hayakawa Ueto had even signed up for a premium service package—locking in a deal that would last over a decade.
At Micfo, Unreal Engine wasn't the only technology sourced from Gamestar Electronic Entertainment. They were also using Gamestar's flash memory technology.
Gamestar had been one of the earliest companies to invest in new flash storage development.
In their own game cartridges, Gamestar combined a disc-like storage medium with traditional flash technology. This let them maintain both low costs and fast data transfer speeds—offering the best of both worlds.
They also aggressively pushed innovations in flash memory, constantly working to lower manufacturing costs. As a result, their technology was in high demand across various industries—Micfo included.
Besides being a visionary, Myron Case was also great at spotting ways to cut costs.
So even if it meant using tech from a competitor, even if it hurt his pride, he'd still do it.
At that moment, his desk was cluttered with licensing documents from Sorei Electronics, all tied to Gamestar-related patents.
Staring at them gave him a headache.
How could Gamestar have so many patents?
No matter what he did, a portion of his revenue inevitably ended up in Takayuki's pocket—and that just didn't sit right.
Thinking of Takayuki, he picked up the phone and called his assistant in.
"You needed me, sir?"
His assistant—roughly his age—was one of Myron Case's most trusted aides. He didn't hire yes-men. He needed competence.
If there was anyone Myron truly admired, it was Gamestar's powerhouse executive, Matsuibashi Minoru.
To him, Takayuki was more of an idealist—albeit one with an uncanny sense for where the industry was going. But those two traits alone weren't enough to build a top-tier company.
Gamestar's rise was just as much Minoru's success as it was Takayuki's.
If Myron had the chance, he'd love to have someone like her on his side.
Looking at his assistant, he asked, "Any new moves from Gamestar Electronic Entertainment? I mean beyond the usual stuff with Facebook."
The assistant nodded. "They've been pushing hard to expand the gaming audience. They've spent a lot doing so."
"They're still focused on growing the player base? Nothing new happening on the mobile side?" Myron asked, somewhat surprised.
"No. Their work with Facebook seems to be focused purely on providing high-quality games. No indication of deeper mobile investment."
Hearing that gave Myron a sense of relief.
Good. Things weren't as bad as he feared.
As long as they weren't pushing harder into smartphones, he still had the upper hand.
As for that handheld console Gamestar was developing?
Honestly, he wasn't too concerned.
He had already crushed the handheld market once before.
And the numbers supported him. Most people clearly preferred using smartphones. When heading out, their first choice was always a phone. Handheld consoles were just secondary.
Still, out of caution, Myron asked, "How effective has their marketing been?"
"There's definitely an impact. Overall game sales have gone up recently. But it still doesn't compare to the mobile sector—people are sticking with smartphones."
"Good," Myron said. "Let's ramp up hardware investment. We need to speed up the production of second-gen chips. The first batch didn't gain traction. The second needs to perform."
The assistant nodded, jotting everything down. "Understood."
"One more thing—can we make any breakthroughs in flash memory technology?"
The assistant paused his writing and looked up. "You're hoping to break free from Gamestar's patent control?"
"Exactly. We should be able to work on flash tech, right? It should be easier than chip R&D."
"It is easier, but there's a problem."
"What is it?"
The assistant hesitated. "It's only easier if we follow the current tech path. And nearly every step of that path is covered by Gamestar's patents. Unless we forge an entirely new path in flash storage tech, there's no way around it."
"That difficult?"
"Yes. It's just as hard—maybe harder—than developing new chips."
Myron frowned. "Doesn't that kind of patent hold count as a monopoly?"
"Unfortunately, no. Gamestar is actually very open with their licensing. As long as you pay, anyone—even competitors—can use their patented technology. There's no restriction, no evidence of anti-competitive behavior. Even if we tried to sue or file a complaint, it wouldn't hold up."
Myron sighed. "Alright. I get it. We'll leave it there for now."