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Chapter 252: Booth Brawl
🕑 Added 2025-09-04 11:20:56 +0000 UTCThe next day at Komina’s Tokyo headquarters, a tense vibe choked the president’s office.
Kazuo Koizumi stood across from Keizo Kamijo, barely daring to breathe.
Keizo gripped a stack of reports, but the first page told the whole story.
Komina Booth Data Summary – Day 1
Daily Visitors: 30,000
Average Stay: 10 minutes
Somatosensory Cabin Trials: 1,925
Media Registrations: 32
Peak Popularity Index: 85%
Low Popularity Index: 40%
Overall Heat Index: 65%
Note: Data as of Day 1 close of Tokyo International Game Festival
Keizo took a deep breath. Solid numbers. The 30,000 visitors with a 10-minute average stay matched last year’s stats for the same booth. The 1,925 cabin trials hit the expected load for their 52 demo units. Thirty-two media outlets—covering all major global gaming press—was respectable. The 65% heat index, based on booth traffic and engagement, beat 90% of exhibitors. Anything over 50% was a win in a venue this packed.
But Keizo’s face was dark as coal.
Why? The lower half of the report: WindyPeak Games’ numbers.
WindyPeak Booth Data Summary – Day 1
Daily Visitors: 60,000
Average Stay: 30 minutes
Somatosensory Cabin Trials: 1,102
Media Registrations: 85
Peak Popularity Index: 241%
Low Popularity Index: 103%
Overall Heat Index: 172%
Note: Data as of Day 1 close of Tokyo International Game Festival
Sixty thousand visitors. Twice Komina’s count. WindyPeak, a mid-sized Seattle outfit, had a booth half the size of Komina’s at best—less flash, fewer frills. Yet they doubled the traffic. If they’d had Komina’s prime setup, they might’ve hit 120,000—over half the festival’s 200,000 Day 1 attendees.
And 30-minute stays? Players were glued to WindyPeak’s booth. Keizo couldn’t even picture the chaos—spillover probably swamped nearby booths. Eighty-five media outlets, from mainstream to indie bloggers, showed up. The heat index? A jaw-dropping 241% peak, 103% at its lowest. WindyPeak was overloaded all day.
Komina’s 65% looked pathetic by comparison.
“Humiliating!” Keizo slammed the reports on his desk with a bang. Kazuo flinched.
“President…” Kazuo stammered, knowing WindyPeak’s dominance better than anyone. “Their numbers… it’s because WindyPeak’s playing dirty.”
“Dirty how?” Keizo snapped, squinting. “This is Japan! What tricks can they pull?”
“Gus Harper showed up in person,” Kazuo said, fuming. “He’s their game director and VP, but he’s out there working the booth like a damn greeter, hyping the crowd. It’s unheard of at this festival. That’s why they’ve got media and players swarming.”
“Despicable,” Kazuo spat. “It’s a cheap stunt for attention.”
Keizo snorted. “So why aren’t you out there?”
“I…” Kazuo’s head dropped. “I don’t chase clout like they do, President.”
Komina was a titan, and Kazuo’s studio was a top dog under Keizo’s leadership. But in raw fame? He couldn’t touch Gus Harper. It was a hard truth.
Keizo paused, then leaned in. “If we can’t outshine them, can we at least shut them down?”
Kazuo froze. Two seconds later, he met Keizo’s eyes. “You mean…”
“Dirty move, Gus,” Tatsuya Moritani said with a wry smile, sliding a cup of oolong tea across the table.
It was the afternoon of Day 2, behind Komina’s booth. Tatsuya, checking on his team’s setup, decided to catch up with Gus.
“Your Day 1 popularity hit 240%,” Tatsuya said, shaking his head. “Highest in festival history. Shows your pull in the gaming world.”
Gus waved it off. “Pull? Nah, I just show my face more.”
Hard to believe a week ago these two were plotting to bury each other in the market. Now they were sipping tea like old pals.
“What’s your next move, Tatsuya?” Gus asked, sipping.
Tatsuya blinked. “Next move?”
“For the expo,” Gus said, nodding at the floor.
Tatsuya opened his mouth, then sighed. “The expo’s pretty much set. We’re locked in.”
“There’s still time to shake things up,” Gus teased, smirking. “Oh, random question—don’t mind me. Your ‘executive director’ gig at Komina… it’s not like a shareholder director, right?”
Tatsuya nodded, unfazed. “Right. Executive directors like me handle daily ops, no equity. I get dividends, not shares.” He pointed at himself. “I run the gaming division, but I’m no shareholder.”
“Got it,” Gus said, nodding.
Tatsuya raised an eyebrow. “Why the sudden interest in Komina’s org chart? Planning a Japan branch, like the rumors say?”
Gus laughed. “Us? We’re just a mid-sized crew. Overseas branches are a stretch.”
He paused, then grinned. “But… maybe down the road.”
Jokingly, he added, “I’ll poach you when the time comes.”
Tatsuya burst out laughing. “You’re a riot, Gus. I’m your rival on this project.”
“Psh,” Gus said. “There’s an old saying: ‘No fight, no friendship.’ The harder we go at it, the closer we get.”
But then—
A shout in a thick Kansai accent cut through from WindyPeak’s booth. Gus’s Japanese wasn’t fluent, but years in Japan and working with Steel Chain Fingers Studio gave him enough to catch the gist. The curses were filthy.
Despite the booth’s buzz—players and visitors everywhere—the Kansai shouting drowned it out. A loud bang followed, then screams from the crowd.
Gus and Tatsuya exchanged a look and stood. “I’ll check it out,” Gus said.
He darted through a narrow passage back to WindyPeak’s booth.
There, three or four punks in leather jackets with dyed hair loitered in the demo area. A somatosensory cabin lay toppled. The leader—green hair, nose ring—yelled, “Where’s the guy in charge? Get out here, damn it!”
Gus frowned, stepping forward. “That’s me. What’s this about?”
Green Hair sized him up, then slung an arm around a young woman next to him, pointing at the cabin. “Your game’s trash! All blood and guts—scared my girl. What you gonna do about it?”
Gus blinked, speechless. This is straight-up troublemaking.
Green Hair took his silence as weakness, shoving him. “Yo, I’m talking! You deaf?”
Two security guards moved in, but Gus waved them off. His gut screamed: these punks were here to wreck the booth. A fight would play into their hands. Festival rules were clear—any conflict could shut down a booth for investigation, tanking WindyPeak’s four-day run. Even if cleared later, the damage would be done.
This was Japan, not Seattle. And Gus had a hunch: Komina sent these goons. Dirty as hell.
“What? You ignoring me?” Green Hair shoved again. “Working for foreigners, huh? Screw you!”
The situation teetered on chaos.
Then—thud, thud! Footsteps raced up. A man in a gray suit blew past Gus, patting his shoulder to step back. Security grabbed Green Hair’s collar.
Crack! A brutal slap sent Green Hair sprawling.
The crowd gasped.
Green Hair, dazed, leapt up, cursing, “You son of a—” and lunged.
Smack! Another slap from the suit. “Open your damn eyes!”
Green Hair, still swearing, froze mid-rush. He saw the man’s face and went rigid.
Three seconds later, he bowed a perfect 90 degrees, stammering, “S-sorry! Moritani-senpai! So sorry!”
