"Let's see what new videos are up tonight."
At eight o'clock in the evening, in a university dorm, Yamada Kenta opened VideoHub after a long day of classes, ready to unwind with his usual routine of browsing.
As a military enthusiast, his feed was filled with curated content: combat training clips, war-themed movies, and game trailers. Skipping a few videos felt like missing out on life.
His roommates, sprawled on their beds with phones and laptops, were lost in their own hobbies, each immersed in their personal worlds.
"Huh? A homemade 2D side-scrolling war animation?" Kenta's curiosity piqued as he noticed a video thumbnail.
These days, war-themed projects were rare, especially in 2D side-scrolling format, which struggled to capture the intensity of battle.
"Probably some student's three-year animation project," Kenta chuckled, picturing amateurish glitches and awkward visuals. His finger tapped the screen to play the video.
The video opened with a golden field bathed in sunlight, accompanied by gentle piano notes and a soft voiceover. A couple filled the scene: the husband clearing straw in the field, the wife cradling their child under a tree, gazing warmly at him. The image was serene, almost idyllic.
"Not bad at all," Kenta murmured, surprised, as the video drew him in.
But then the music shifted, growing tense and urgent, laced with unease. The visuals accelerated. War erupted between two nations. Soldiers stormed the couple's farm, dragging the husband—an immigrant from the enemy country—away, deporting him.
Bombers roared across the sky. Soldiers charged through gunfire and screams. Explosions sent bodies flying. The overwhelming visuals and soaring background music plunged Kenta into the chaos of a battlefield, his heart racing.
Fate offered no reprieve. Days later, the wife's father was drafted into the war, forced to leave home in search of his son-in-law, only to vanish in the blood and fire of combat.
As the chaos settled, the music softened, and the voiceover returned, low and somber. The screen showed a lone, hunched figure standing amid ruins, staring at the devastation.
Flashes followed: families torn apart, loved ones lost, survivors clutching bodies and weeping in the smoke.
The final frame froze on a cross planted in the battlefield's center. The title Valiant Hearts emerged in red, as if stained with blood.
Kenta sat motionless, his brow furrowed, a heavy feeling settling in his chest. The images lingered: soldiers fighting desperately, families waiting in vain for their return. He couldn't find words.
It was just a seven-minute animation, yet it felt like watching an epic film.
"What an incredible video!" Kenta finally exclaimed, snapping out of his daze.
He'd seen war-themed animations before, but none captured emotions so vividly or portrayed the brutality of conflict so authentically.
What shocked him even more was the production quality. The explosion effects, with every frame practically burning money, showed bullet fragments' trajectories and impact reactions in stunning detail.
This wasn't just an animation—it was a work of art, delivering a visceral battlefield experience.
"Which studio made this? A teaser for some big movie?" Kenta wondered. Only major production companies could achieve this level of polish, he thought. Why release it so quietly?
With a bemused grin, he scrolled to the video's tags.
(Game CG) (Single-Player Game) (Valiant Hearts) (Emotional Journey) (Healing)
"What the—?!" Kenta nearly leapt off his bed, eyes wide. "You're telling me this is a game CG?"
His outburst drew his roommates' attention. They looked up, curious.
"What's got you so worked up? Did your favorite streamer turn off their filter?" one teased.
"Ha, probably. Remember that one influencer who got exposed?" another chimed in.
"People these days would rather trust a touched-up avatar than a mirror."
"Exactly! They'll crank up the filters till their phone crashes, and it still won't help."
Laughter filled the dorm.
"No, it's not that!" Kenta's face flushed as he turned his laptop toward them. "Check out this animation. You've got to see it!"
Within hours, the video Saito Hayate uploaded began to spread, gaining traction in small online circles. The game's sales, though, were modest—barely thirty copies sold.
"As expected," Hayate muttered, checking the sales page after waking up, his sleepiness gone.
He'd anticipated this. A game's success wasn't just about quality—it needed visibility and marketing. Unlike major studios with resources and reach, he had neither fame nor a promotional budget. Explosive success was a long shot.
The novels he'd read in his past life, where a game went viral because a big streamer happened to play it, were pure fantasy. Last night, he'd messaged countless gaming influencers through the platform, pitching Valiant Hearts. Not one had downloaded it. Most didn't even glance at his message.
"Good thing I had a backup plan," Hayate said, opening VideoHub to check the CG trailer's performance. Just then, his phone rang.
It was Mori Kenji, from the game studio he'd collaborated with most. Hayate answered immediately.
"Saito, I've got an action programming job. You in?" Mori's familiar voice came through.
"You're offering me freelance work? Don't you know the mess I'm in?" Hayate asked, surprised.
Five of his ten orders had come from Mori's studio. Knowing Hayate was a fresh graduate, Mori often prioritized him for small jobs, which had been a lifeline. Taking this risk now, with Seikai's influence looming, was no small gesture.
Mori chuckled, a hint of self-deprecation in his tone. "Small studios like mine don't get to cozy up to giants like Seikai. We don't need to play their game."
Perhaps because they were a small outfit, they understood Hayate's struggles all too well.
Hayate paused, then smiled. "Thanks, but I'm good. I've got a new path now. I appreciate everything you've done, Mori."
"What? You're switching careers?" Mori's voice faltered, then softened with weariness. "Well, you're young. Plenty of time to explore. If you ever need anything, you know where to find me."
"I will," Hayate replied, wanting to say more, but his attention shifted to VideoHub. A flood of notifications had appeared, leaving him stunned.
"Gotta go, something came up." He hung up and opened the messages.
In just one night, his inbox had exploded to over 999 notifications.