Two weeks after the release of the Final Fantasy VII movie, Facebook's video division released its latest sales data.
User subscriptions had surged to 3 million, with half opting for annual plans.
These 3 million users represented a real, solid cash flow—a massive surprise for a video division that had previously shown little promise.
And without a doubt, the biggest contributor to this success was the Final Fantasy VII movie.
This single film had attracted millions of users to register and subscribe.
Of course, the video section wasn't just about Final Fantasy VII.
Once viewers, still basking in the afterglow of the movie, finished watching, they discovered plenty of classic shows and films available on the platform.
And since they'd already paid for their subscription—why not keep watching?
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They soon realized the subscription was actually worth it.
There was now an endless supply of shows and movies, with even more set to be added soon, according to site previews.
The video division was reinvigorated. Work became enthusiastic and high-energy.
Previously, they were just a peripheral team.
But now, after turning a massive profit, they were promoted to a higher-level department within Facebook, and their importance significantly increased.
Soon after, funding began flowing into the division.
Takayuki had previously suggested the team form their own in-house production crew, and if needed, his Unreal Engine team could assist—for a fee, of course.
After all, the engine didn't come cheap—business is business.
It was a win-win situation.
Facebook discovered a new, profitable revenue stream, and the Final Fantasy VII brand exploded in popularity.
And it wasn't over yet.
Once word spread online that the Final Fantasy VII movie was screening in theaters in Japan, theaters in Japan began selling out every showing.
These theaters had only screened the movie at the government's suggestion, and hadn't done much promotion. They assumed it was just a formality—a political task to check off.
They never imagined it would turn into a golden goose.
Every showing of the movie sold out, and theaters even started offering standing-room tickets, cheaper and more accessible, further increasing revenue.
This money didn't mean much to Takayuki himself, but to the theaters? They were ecstatic.
Since the economic bubble burst, theaters had been struggling. Even though going to the movies was a relatively affordable form of entertainment, audiences had dwindled.
Now, suddenly, theaters were packed again. It was a rare sight.
The Final Fantasy VII movie had become just like the original FFVII game—creating huge ripple effects in the market.
Positive reviews from gamers and non-gamers alike raised the film's reputation to new heights.
And those so-called professional filmmakers who once mocked the movie were now the ones being mocked.
With real, solid numbers in front of them, they had nothing left to say.
According to the latest data, Final Fantasy VII had already generated over $300 million in direct revenue.
And this wasn't just box office—this was pure income from Facebook subscriptions and physical media sales.
This time, Takayuki openly published all the data.
The cartridge version of the movie had sold over 1 million units in just two weeks. The disc version had sold over 600,000.
It sounded almost ridiculous.
In the video rental and home media market, products with over a million in sales were extremely rare.
And Final Fantasy VII was technically Takayuki's first film.
To achieve this kind of market response with his debut movie—who could still claim he had no qualifications to direct?
How many people in the world can say they started their film career at the top?
Some even began suggesting that Takayuki should co-develop both games and movies moving forward.
They were all eager to see what he would create next, hoping for another masterpiece like FFVII.
In this whirlwind of success, everyone was happy:
Viewers were thrilled.
Theater owners screening the movie were raking in cash.
Facebook's video division was exploding with growth.
And Takayuki? Overjoyed, of course.
This was proof that something he'd loved in his past life had found recognition and love in this world too.
But as for whether he'd continue making movies, Takayuki wasn't so sure.
His main business wasn't film—he only made the Final Fantasy VII movie out of a simple desire:
To share something he had loved in his previous life with the people of this world.
Now that this wish had come true, whether or not he'd make more movies would depend on his schedule—only if game development allowed.
Games were still his core mission.
Yet while many were celebrating, not everyone was happy.
People like Alfonso—and a few others who had opposed the FFVII movie—were most definitely not pleased.
At the end of the day, movies are still entertainment products.
Sure, they can be artistic and meaningful.
But the real force pushing the industry forward is a mature, thriving commercial market.
And Final Fantasy VII had become an incredibly successful commercial film—while also advancing industry technology.
Before FFVII, no one thought a fully CG film should be made this way.
Many were still conservative when it came to VFX.
Most drew a clear line between animation and live-action cinema.
Takayuki was the first to break that boundary.
And now, what made filmmakers most uncomfortable was that this innovation didn't come from within their ranks, but from an outsider on his very first film.
That's deeply ironic.
Or maybe, as some say—true talent shines anywhere.
In the gaming world, Takayuki was already god-tier.In the film world—even if he wasn't a god, he was well above the clouds.
CRASH!
Alfonso hadn't left his house lately—he'd been in a terrible mood.
He'd just turned on the TV and seen a report on Final Fantasy VII, which even mocked his last public appearance.
His frustration peaked—he lost it.
With one hand, he swept everything off his desk.
Cups and plates shattered loudly on the ground…
But even the sound of breaking glass couldn't calm Alfonso's burning rage.