Takayuki proved with his own actions that video games don't necessarily need to be big-budget productions.
Aiko, Kazumi, and Oto, who had been feeling a bit disheartened, quickly recovered their motivation—stronger than ever. At the same time, all three of them felt a bit ashamed for how easily they had considered giving up on making games.
It was like Takayuki had given them a very direct life lesson—calling him a second father wouldn't be an exaggeration.
He reignited their hope and strengthened their determination to keep pursuing game development.
With that settled, Takayuki temporarily stopped paying attention to Stardew Valley, the game he had released. Updates to the game could be handled occasionally via Battlenet, or even assigned to someone else. What made Stardew Valley so captivating was its complete gameplay loop—it was a game people could truly get lost in.
As long as that core remained solid, and new content kept coming, the game would continue to draw in players.
Inside the company, employees' admiration for Takayuki reached new heights.
They were all people who had played Stardew Valley afterward. Not everyone loved the game, but at least 80% of them did—an impressive feat. From that alone, it was already clear that Stardew Valley had a very bright future.
Moreover, after the most respected game reviewer in the industry, Kazuo Murakami, gave the game a five-star rating, more and more review sites began publishing articles about it.
There were almost no negative reviews. The lowest score was still an 8 out of 10.
There had always been rumors that the game was developed by a single person. The user with the name "Nintendo is the Damn Overlord of the World" became an object of admiration.
And the sales numbers began reflecting the hype more clearly.
Stardew Valley sold around 50,000 copies in its first week.
In the second week, sales doubled to 100,000.
That kind of number was nothing for some of Gamestar Electronic Entertainment's top titles. But the fact that it grew against the trend—that was extraordinary.
Most games don't pick up speed after release. If anything, sales taper off.
But when a game's sales grow week over week, that's a strong indicator of how fun it truly is.
By week three: 150,000 units sold.
Week four: 200,000.
Week five: sales skyrocketed to 400,000.
It was like riding a rocket—no one expected it. Jaws dropped.
And when people found out the game was made entirely by Takayuki himself, their admiration went even deeper.
This era wasn't like ten years ago when the industry was still new. Today's gamers were picky. It was hard to impress them with just anything.
But even so, players happily paid for Stardew Valley.
"Super fun—I haven't slept in days.""This game reminds me of childhood summers on the farm.""Haven't played something this fun in years. The game is small, but packed with content. I don't want to leave Pelican Town.""The graphics are bad, but it's weirdly addicting. I'm definitely recommending this to my friends!"
Praise like this flooded the internet, almost as if fans were trying to put the mysterious developer on a pedestal.
If this were the Takayuki from his past life, he might've thought it was just paid hype.
But internet culture in this world was still relatively pure. The web hadn't been fully commercialized, so most of these rave reviews were probably genuine.
Of course, there were some negative voices. But those critiques were drowned in a sea of praise and didn't make a dent.
On top of that, Takayuki had posted on the game's store page that there would be more content updates, which sent players into a frenzy of anticipation. The comments section exploded with posts begging for new features.
Praise and demands for updates came nonstop.
All Takayuki did was mention future plans like marriage systems, multiplayer, and cooking—and players were already acting like if he didn't deliver soon, he'd be public enemy number one.
Meanwhile, even real-life farming experts chimed in.
They seriously pointed out that crops don't grow overnight in real life. Farming takes a lot of effort and mental energy.
But they also admitted that simplifying those aspects in the game was the right call. It reduced the stress of real-world farming work and actually sparked interest in agriculture among players.
Because Takayuki had published the game under an alternate account, and it wasn't officially associated with Gamestar Electronic Entertainment, there was no official forum.
So players quickly made their own Stardew Valley forum. There, people discussed the game's story, debated whether Pelican Town was based on a real place, and shared guides and walkthroughs.
With enough players, strange and creative strategies naturally emerged—many of which even Takayuki hadn't thought of himself.
Takayuki, in turn, started reading these community discussions with great interest.
In that fan-made forum, the talk was lively. Shipping communities had formed, discussing which female character was prettiest or most suitable to marry. Many called it their Game of the Year, even saying it surpassed Gamestar's own first-party titles—something extremely rare.
And as sales grew, curious onlookers and casual gamers were drawn in. At first, they couldn't understand why a game with such crude graphics was so popular.
But once they played it for themselves, they understood completely.
This game wasn't just "pretty good"—it was downright amazing.