Video Game Tycoon in Tokyo-Chapter 861: Count Me In

Shizuoka Jirō didn't particularly care about intercity rivalry—where a high-profile entertainment resort ended up didn't matter much to him.

But the theme park Takayuki proposed... that idea alone made his heart race.

A theme park!

And not just any theme park—a massive one.

This level of theme park was rare even on a national scale.

And Takayuki wanted to personally build one.

"Takayuki, this theme park you're envisioning... it probably won't be cheap to build, will it? That money..."

Takayuki answered bluntly, "Our company currently has over 10 billion USD in reserves. That might still be a bit tight for building a park of this scale, but it's definitely enough for the initial phase. After that, I can continue investing with income from our other projects."

...

...

T-Ten billion?!

Is making video games really that profitable?

How many years has it even been since the company was founded?

If he had that kind of money, he'd already be among Japan's wealthiest individuals.

And yet Takayuki had quietly accumulated that kind of fortune.

Sure, it was technically the reserves of Gamestar Entertainment.

But Takayuki was the majority shareholder—it was essentially his personal net worth.

And yet he talked about it as if it were nothing, barely batting an eye.

Shizuoka Jirō now looked at him with entirely new respect.

"Of course, saving money is always good. So if possible, I'd like to acquire a piece of land near Tokyo at a lower price, with tax incentives and policy support as well. Naturally, the government would get something in return—this park would increase national income, promote cultural exports, and perfectly align with the goals of the Cool Japan initiative. What do you think?"

It was more than reasonable—brilliant, even!

Shizuoka immediately saw the potential in aligning the park with Cool Japan.

And the moment Takayuki brought it up, Shizuoka knew it was a winning idea.

Before this, the whole idea had seemed too far-fetched, and land wasn't even within his jurisdiction.

But once it became something that could significantly boost his political career, his attitude changed dramatically.

"Takayuki, leave it to me—I'll do everything I can to make it happen! No, I'll call someone right now."

Eager, Shizuoka dashed out of the room to make a call, and returned shortly after.

"Takayuki, this has real potential! It'll take some time, but the initial response is promising."

"I understand. There's no rush."

Shizuoka looked hopeful. "By the way, Takayuki... earlier, didn't you mention another game project?"

"Oh, that?" Takayuki smiled. "Yes, there's one more. But it'll come a bit later in the pipeline. Still, you can take a look at the proposal now—it's called Ghost of Tsushima."

"Tsushima?" The name sounded somewhat familiar to Shizuoka.

"Unlike Sekiro, Tsushima follows real historical events more closely."

Takayuki handed him another prepared pitch document.

Truthfully, even if Shizuoka hadn't asked, Takayuki was planning to unveil this game later anyway. Using it now as a bargaining chip just helped him secure more advantages.

This proposal was simpler than Sekiro's. Sekiro required an original world and lore, while Tsushima was based on a real historical episode—though naturally, some creative liberties would be taken.

Ghost of Tsushima tells the story of Japan's resistance against the Mongol invasions. It was one of the few historical events Japan could proudly tout.

In this parallel world, though names and details differed slightly, the key events remained similar.

Japan had faced two Mongol invasions, leading to intense battles. Technically, Japan hadn't won through military superiority—history just recorded it as a "victory." Takayuki suspected the Mongols never truly committed to a full-scale invasion. If they had, Japan might not have survived.

But there was no need to dig into those truths for this.

As Shizuoka continued reading, he found Tsushima even more compelling than Sekiro. Not necessarily in gameplay or style, but from a cultural export perspective—it had more educational and promotional value.

A story rooted in history would leave a deeper impression on global audiences than a fantastical tale.

With proper marketing, the game could even become a powerful tourism draw for the real Tsushima Island. It was exactly the kind of initiative he wanted.

"Takayuki, this game is excellent too. You really are a national treasure. Every one of your games leaves such a deep impression."

Shizuoka was increasingly impressed with Takayuki.

There were more hit titles under Takayuki's belt than he could count on both hands. Gamers worshipped him as the "God of Games," and Japan's elite were beginning to call him a master artist.

Lately, more and more people believed that video games deserved to be considered an art form. If cinema was art, why not games?

So Takayuki's recognition as a true artist felt entirely justified.

With Takayuki's permission, Shizuoka carefully set aside both proposals. Since Takayuki still had work to do, he didn't linger much longer and left with Tsukino Aya.

As for Shizuoka Jirō, he immediately began lobbying various government departments the very next day.

He threw himself into the role of Takayuki's vanguard, eager to convince the government to allocate a large enough piece of land for the theme park.

Tokyo City barely hesitated before giving the green light.

After all, Osaka's Starloop Resort had become a booming business, and Tokyo had envied it for years.

But in this world, there were very few companies with the capability to build a massive theme park—and even fewer willing to do it in Japan.

Trying to lure in foreign investors was difficult.

But Takayuki?

He was one of their own. If he wanted to build a landmark gaming park, they'd be more than happy to support it.

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It was far more cost-effective than letting foreign capital profit off domestic consumers.