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Chapter 254: A Game-Changing Sports Title?
🕑 Added 2025-09-04 11:27:27 +0000 UTCEmergency! WindyPeak Booth Hit by Provocation!
Mastermind at play? Someone pulling strings? WindyPeak’s meteoric rise has clearly ruffled feathers!
Gus Harper tweeted he’s fine! The culprits were hauled off by Tokyo police!
Festival organizers issued a statement! Harsh penalties promised!
…
Reports confirm the Tokyo International Game Festival probe is closed. WindyPeak and Gus Harper called it a random incident, a one-off stunt with no mastermind, causing no major damage to the expo. They urge focus on the games…
The scuffle at WindyPeak’s booth barely dented the festival vibe. But with global media watching, “WindyPeak Booth Provoked” headlines tore through gaming circles in two hours flat, spilling into mainstream chatter.
Online theories went wild. Komina caught flak, big time.
They got attention, alright—the kind that burns.
Good thing Tatsuya Moritani moved fast, ringing Gus.
On the call, Tatsuya begged Gus to keep it hush-hush, for his sake. He sent proof of Kazuo Koizumi’s busted ribs and tibia, showing he’d handled it, pleading with Gus not to escalate to diplomatic drama.
Gus wasn’t planning to make waves. Sure, a Seattle studio rep roughed up by a Japanese titan’s hired goons could be spun into an international mess. But no one got hurt, and the booth only lost a tipped-over cabin—still working. Blowing it up would waste time, stir trouble, and drag Parker Capital into a PR nightmare.
Plus, Tatsuya had stepped up. Gus owed him.
His one condition: “Tatsuya, step back from Torii’s post-launch promo.”
First, Gus didn’t want Tatsuya as a rival. Second, the guy was a beast to compete against. If Komina’s execs hadn’t ditched Tatsuya’s plan to hold the line, Sekiro’s posters wouldn’t be blanketing Tokyo, and its festival hype wouldn’t be off the charts.
Tatsuya chuckled bitterly. “Funny—I already quit the festival promo gig to Keizo.”
They laughed at the coincidence, a moment of weird sync.
Gus switched his ask: “Alright, buy me dinner before I bounce.”
With Tatsuya out and Kazuo in the hospital, Torii’s $189 million flop at the festival was dead in the water. Komina was staring down another wipeout.
“I’m fine, swear, check it,” Gus said that night, shoving his face into his phone camera, shaking his head to reassure Zoey Parker.
“Stand up, let me see,” Zoey said, sprawled on her Seattle sofa in pajamas, brow creased. “Walk a bit?”
Gus grinned, pulling back the phone and strutting around a chair. “One, two! One, two! Yo, check it!”
He tiptoed, striking poses, then leaned in, faking panic. “Doc! One leg’s longer than the other!”
Zoey burst out laughing, swatting the screen like she could smack him. “You’re gonna stay broke forever, you goof.”
She sighed, tension easing.
“Why not come back? The expo’s locked in, and after this mess—even if it’s no biggie—Japan’s gonna keep it tight,” Zoey said. “No one’s dumb enough to try again.”
“That’s why I’m staying,” Gus said. “Two days left. Gotta ride the wave.”
Zoey opened her mouth but gave up, pouting. “Fine. Just don’t get cocky.”
“No worries,” Gus nodded. “Back soon.”
“Ugh, hurry,” Zoey groaned, flopping onto the sofa armrest. “I’m drowning without you. Can’t even catch my shows!”
“That bad?” Gus raised an eyebrow.
With Sekiro as WindyPeak’s main push and Apex Legends and PUBG updates locked in, the company should be chilling, right?
Zoey rolled her eyes. “Victor Lang showed up the second you left.”
“What?” Gus smirked. “IndieVibe? What’s he after?”
“That motion assist tech Luke Bennett cooked up,” Zoey said. “Victor’s slick. Used their Nebula Entertainment deal to get an in, hitting us up while you’re gone.”
Gus nearly choked on his water. Trying to pull a fast one.
Victor probably figured Zoey was an easier mark, swooping in the minute Gus was out of town.
“What’d he pitch?” Gus asked.
“I’m hoping WindyPeak can whip up a sports game,” Victor Lang said in the conference room, rubbing his hands, a mix of caution and nerves.
Zoey bit back a grin, amused but exasperated, waving him on. “Spill it, Victor.”
He flashed a smile. “Two reasons. One, it diversifies your lineup. Two, it gives IndieVibe X2 a killer project to compete with.”
Victor was sharp—IndieVibe’s climb from Nebula’s shadow to a real player proved it. With Sekiro, he’d played nice, not daring to cross WindyPeak (or Gus). Now, he wanted an exclusive to balance the scales.
An exclusive. Platforms would line up like fans at a pop-up shop for a WindyPeak original.
Zoey mulled it over. Normally, she’d check with Gus first. But Sekiro was wrapping, and both studios—Steel Chain Fingers and Golden Experience—were project-less. IndieVibe’s exclusive offer was too juicy to pass.
“Not a bad call,” Zoey nodded.
Another flagship project? Hell yeah.
Victor lit up. “Better than good, Zoey! It’s a slam dunk!”
He broke it down: “IndieVibe X2’s all about ‘full sensory assist tech’—double the immersion. Your upgraded motion assist tech in Sekiro? It’s killing it. Players love it. Combine our tech with yours, and we’ve got a sports game that’s next-level immersive. Think fluid, high-skill moves—360-degree backflips, BMX tricks, downhill skiing with crazy center-of-gravity control. Hell, maybe even wingsuit flying or parachuting. It’ll be a hit!”
Zoey’s heart skipped. Damn, that sounds fire.
But also… PTSD trigger. Big sales pitches gave her chills after past flops. Still, this was a prime opportunity. A sports game with their tech could dominate.
“I think Victor’s onto something,” Zoey said on the phone, wrapping up the pitch recap.
Gus took a sharp breath. “Holy shit, yeah!”
WindyPeak had never touched sports games. The market was stale—football, basketball, rugby, baseball, volleyball, badminton. All “ball” games, with soccer and hoops hogging 65% of the somatosensory cabin market. Rigid, predictable stuff.
But their motion assist tech, polished over a year for Sekiro, was a game-changer. It delivered butter-smooth movement and unlocked high-skill actions. Players could pull off wild stunts—360 backflips, BMX grinds, extreme downhill runs. Hell, maybe even wingsuit dives into ski descents.
Pair that with IndieVibe X2’s sensory tech? You’d get a near-real extreme sports game that could blow the market wide open.
“Alright!” Gus nodded. “Victor’s got a nose for this stuff.”
He couldn’t help but admire Victor’s market savvy. The guy knew games, knew players, and knew how to cash in—IndieVibe’s success proved it. Compare that to Komina, where clueless execs tanked pros like Tatsuya. Screw Komina.
“So,” Zoey said, “you coming back to kick this off?”
“Yup,” Gus said, mentally queuing his system to unlock project slots. “I’m back in a couple days. I’ll call Victor for a video meet. This is gold.”
He grinned, muttering, “I had another project in mind, but Victor’s idea fits perfect.”
Zoey froze. “Another one?”
“Yeah,” Gus said, shrugging. “Got something lined up.”
“We’ve got two studios,” he explained. “Once Sekiro’s done, Steel Chain Fingers can take this sports game. They built Sekiro, so they know the motion tech inside out.”
Zoey blinked, nervous. “And… Golden Experience? You’ve got a project for them?”
“Yup,” Gus nodded. “All set.”
Zoey’s stomach dropped. Big problem.
She clutched a Loss-Making Project Multiplier Coupon in her system, letting her pick from Vampire Survivor, Left 4 Dead, Apex Legends, To the Moon, or Garden Warfare for a sequel, with no doc restrictions and original odds intact. With her 10 million loss budget, she could crank the multiplier to 1,000x. A 18 million loss would net her 18 billion in rebates. Financial freedom, one shot.
But Gus had already booked Golden Experience.
She groaned, then asked cautiously, “So… what’s this project you’ve got planned?”
