Using Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children as the final reveal was a brilliant strategy.
It re-energized the players and left no room for regret. The carnival ended on a perfect note.
In the days following, teasers and previews of the Advent Children story would continue to roll out, keeping players intrigued and hungry for more.
Meanwhile, the development of Monster Hunter had crossed the halfway mark. However, the final product would still need another six months or so before release—this time, the balancing and stat systems were far stricter than usual.
On the other hand, the production cycle for Final Fantasy VII's animated film would be much faster.
That, too, was part of Takayuki's plan.
...
...
He intended to first promote the film in theaters and then distribute it using his company's proprietary cartridge format for handhelds.
Takayuki recalled that in his previous life, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children had been released on PSP's UMD (Universal Media Disc) format, which sold very well. At the time, its visuals were top-tier, offering players a truly cinematic experience.
Traditional games usually only had a few minutes of CG—but this time, it was an entire movie. What could be more satisfying?
If this could help win more acceptance for cartridges as a media format, it would be a huge success.
That said, Takayuki wasn't planning to abandon optical discs either. After all, they were the traditional medium for movies.
But he had no intention of using Sury Electronics' Blu-ray format. Instead, he'd opt for the disc standard supported by the GS1 console—not only to promote his own format but also to chip away at Sury's market dominance.
Even if discs remained mainstream in the future, he wouldn't allow Sury Electronics to hold a monopoly.
Once the carnival had fully wrapped up, the three-day event recorded an average of 71,000 visitors per day, with the adjacent esports arena drawing over 40,000 spectators daily.
For such a young industry, this was nothing short of a miracle.
Still, Takayuki didn't think it was enough.
In the future, with the rise of internet streaming, viewerships could easily reach hundreds of millions—a level far beyond traditional TV ratings, where a 20–30% share was considered a massive win.
Japan had, what, 50 or 60 million televisions?
Even if everyone tuned in to a game-related broadcast at the same time, it would only reach tens of millions.
But with the internet, the numbers could be in the hundreds of millions—that was the true future.
Hayakawa Ueto, watching the final broadcast, was full of emotions. Saying he wasn't envious would've been a lie.
He hadn't expected Gamestar Electronic Entertainment to reach this level.
It was still a company barely a decade old—young by any corporate standard.
Beep-beep.
Just then, his phone rang. It was Nagao Ame from the YOO Portal.
"Hello, Hayakawa-san. Now that Gamestar's carnival is over, we can ramp up our own product promotions," Nagao said casually.
Hayakawa nodded. "Yeah, I was thinking the same. But I'm a bit puzzled—why would Takayuki drop an animated film at the very end? It seems like a major promotional focus for Gamestar."
"That's not hard to guess," Nagao replied with a laugh. "It's obvious Gamestar's growth is slowing. He's trying to attract new users through other channels. But honestly, when it comes to user base, we're not losing to him at all. My YOO Portal has over 70 million registered users globally."
Nagao's tone was full of pride.
There were very few portals in the world with such a massive user base. Maybe not quite countable on one hand, but definitely among the top twenty websites globally.
It was precisely because of this scale that he could draw in so much investment.
Hayakawa listened and didn't find anything wrong with his reasoning, but deep down, he still felt something wasn't quite right. It all seemed too simple.
He couldn't imagine how one animated movie—even if it was from the legendary Final Fantasy franchise—could have that big of an impact.
Sensing Hayakawa's hesitation, Nagao quickly added, "Actually, if you're worried that Takayuki's movie might stir things up, I've got a suggestion."
"A suggestion? What kind?"
"Use your company's strengths."
"Our strengths…"
Hayakawa paused, then his eyes lit up as he seemed to realize something.
"You mean that? Huh… yeah, that might actually work. It could throw a wrench into Gamestar's plans—maybe even sabotage the movie's success outright."
Nagao chuckled coldly. "Heh, judging by the visual quality shown in the stream, that film probably cost upwards of a hundred million yen. Takayuki sure is throwing money around. If it flops, I bet it'll hurt him."
Hayakawa nodded eagerly. "I'll get in touch with our U.S. contacts immediately and push this through. By the way, how's progress with your game studios?"
Nagao sounded delighted. "Several studios are nearing completion. Everything's on schedule. Don't worry—I'll make sure your console gets a steady stream of new titles. No droughts, I promise!"
At this point, Sury Electronics and YOO Portal were official partners.
YOO had acquired more than a dozen game development studios, many of which had once been reputable third-party developers for Gamestar.
Bringing these studios under one roof greatly strengthened their position—and boosted Hayakawa's confidence.
"Excellent. Then let's just follow our own schedule. In the end, it all comes down to game quality."
"Leave it to me," Nagao assured him before hanging up.
Back at Gamestar Electronic Entertainment, although the carnival had ended, work was as intense as ever.
After all, they had promised a lot during the event.
Most of it came from Takayuki's past-life memories of familiar titles. Unless unexpected bugs disrupted development, nothing would delay their progress.
No sooner had the carnival ended than Sury Electronics launched a massive wave of advertising.
Stylish game trailers began spreading across the internet and on billboards everywhere, covering nearly every genre. It was clearly meant to rival Takayuki's offerings.
Had Sury tried this large-scale approach in the past, Takayuki wouldn't have stood a chance. Back then, Gamestar lacked the clout. The only way would've been to rush out tons of NES or SNES-era style games, which were relatively easy to produce compared to modern 3D titles.
But now, Gamestar had momentum. In addition to its first-party games, it had a reliable group of talented partners. Even if some were poached, their overall strength remained solid.
They could hold the line.
Every month, both sides released high-quality titles—developed by local studios in this world—competing head-to-head in the market.
Sury's games had better visuals, thanks to more powerful chipsets. Their handhelds and home consoles both had an edge in rendering.
And the visual spectacle definitely appealed to a certain group of players.
But Gamestar's third-party titles had the upper hand in gameplay creativity.
Years of experience allowed them to consistently release solid three-star-or-better games.
They might not be masterpieces, but they were undeniably fun and engaging.
In terms of sales, third-party titles for both companies performed similarly.
But since Sury's development costs were significantly higher, Gamestar's partners earned more profit at equivalent sales.
At the moment, Takayuki was fully focused on Monster Hunter. He only occasionally checked in on Final Fantasy VIII, ensuring the overall direction was on track.
Then there was the premiere plan for Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children.
When Tukarev, Gamestar's longtime overseas partner, learned about the animated film, he immediately volunteered to handle distribution in North America and Europe.
He had far more experience in the film industry, and the two of them had worked together for years. There was trust.
Takayuki was more than happy to let him handle marketing and release plans. His job was just to ensure production stayed on schedule.
However, Takayuki wasn't the film's director. The role went to a veteran story designer who had worked at Gamestar for years and had a background in film.
He had directed a few mid-level movies in the past but joined Gamestar out of a passion for games.
Never did he imagine he'd return to directing under these circumstances.
Takayuki, while skilled in game development, had little experience in filmmaking.
Even though games and movies shared some similarities, he didn't want to risk ruining a good project due to his lack of expertise.
So he brought in a seasoned director to take the helm, while Takayuki supplied the vision and creative ideas.
It was an unusual arrangement: the director wasn't the sole authority—there was someone "above" him acting more like a commander-in-chief.
Still, the director didn't mind. He was thrilled to be part of such a high-quality animated project.
If things stayed on track, Monster Hunter and Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children would likely launch around the same time. A blockbuster film alongside a dedicated handheld game release? That would definitely move the needle.
However, just as things were coming together, Tukarev sent word from the U.S.:
Several major theater chains had refused to screen Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children.