"Ten thousand Wealth Points already?"
Hearing the notification while browsing online, Saito Hayate's face lit up. He opened the game sales platform and saw that Valiant Hearts had quietly sold over 500 copies.
At $45 per copy, after the platform's 50% cut and taxes, he was left with roughly 10,000.
So, Wealth Points were tied to his game revenue? That was good news.
He'd checked earlier: creating a 2D promotional animation cost 10,000 Wealth Points per minute. A 3D one was pricier—100,000 per minute. A two-hour film would burn through millions.
Still, compared to real-world filming and effects, a million for a movie was a steal, especially with the system's guaranteed quality.
More importantly, spending Wealth Points didn't reduce his actual earnings. They functioned like an independent system currency.
"Too bad a minute's too short. I'll save up for now," Hayate mused.
His mind was brimming with game ideas, but his current resources couldn't bring them to life. He needed a team. Ideally, he'd start his own studio to pave the way for bigger projects.
With that in mind, he grabbed his phone and dialed a number.
"Hey, Mori, I've got a game outsourcing job. You guys interested?"
...
Meanwhile, in the streaming world, Sato Riku, who had just finished Valiant Hearts, sat stunned at his computer, staring at the darkened screen.
His reflection stared back, his eyes glistening with tears.
Emile was gone. The kind-hearted father who risked everything to reunite his family, braving the battlefield, had died.
The stream was eerily quiet. Even the chat was nearly silent.
No one had expected this ending. A heavy atmosphere settled over the stream, suffocating in its intensity.
"He's… just gone?" Riku muttered, his voice faltering. A thousand thoughts swirled in his mind, but none found words.
After a long pause, he stood, pacing the room, occasionally glancing at the ceiling as if grappling with the story's weight.
"Daddy!" A small, high-pitched voice broke the silence. A three- or four-year-old girl stumbled into the room, her clumsy steps echoing the game's image of Marie chasing her father.
Riku, barely holding it together, and his viewers lost it completely. The chat erupted like a flood.
"Fuck! That hit me right in the heart!"
"The designer's a monster. I'm sending him a box of razors!"
"I'm not crying, but my tears won't stop. Getting old makes this shit hurt."
"No way, there's gotta be a happy ending, right?"
"Wahhh… Father-in-law, my father-in-law."
"I miss my dad."
Men's emotions are often reserved, rarely shown. But in that moment, the guys in the stream broke down together.
Riku, especially, felt it deeply. Seeing his daughter, he connected instantly, lifting her with trembling hands, his expression pained yet softer than ever.
"Niu Niu, how about Daddy takes you out to play today?" he said, turning to the camera with an apologetic look. "Sorry, folks, I'm cutting the stream early. Gotta spend time with family today."
The stream ended, but no one called him out for dipping early. They got it—he'd been pulled into the game's world.
Or rather, they all had.
The game left them loving it and hating it at the same time.
"No way I'm suffering alone!" one viewer declared, a mischievous grin spreading. Soon, clips of the game flooded websites and short-video platforms.
[Shock! The Ultimate Feel-Good Game You Need to Play!]
[This Game's Too Fun! Come Join the Party!]
[Streamer Sato Riku Smashes Controller—Here's Why!]
[Why Did Millions Cry? The Heartwarming Truth Behind It.]
The internet's speed was terrifying. In half a day, Valiant Hearts, once obscure, caught the attention of streamers and players, racking up massive interest.
The jaw-dropping CG trailer and clips from Riku's stream spurred a wave of purchases, boosting sales further.
Of course, some skeptics thought it was overhyped, diving in to debunk the buzz. But three or four hours later…
"Wahhh, why does it end like this? I'm done!" sobbed Aki Hana, a streamer clutching a plush pillow, completely wrecked by the game's ending.
Her viewers, drawn by the hype, spammed the chat.
"Damn, forget the streamer—I'm a grown man and I'm tearing up."
"I barely made it to the end, and then that? Who can handle this?"
"The atmosphere's unreal. I was holding my breath the whole time."
"I thought $45 was steep, but now I feel I don't deserve it."
"Making a 2D side-scroller this good? Is the designer a god?"
"Should've stayed away. Rest in peace, old man!"
Sometimes, darkness isn't the scariest thing. It's knowing light exists, chasing it, and falling just short of reaching it. That lingering regret and unfulfilled longing were the game's true power.
The industry hadn't seen a game this heartfelt in ages. And to think it was made by one person?
Amid the shock, Hayate's account started gaining followers.
...
At Dawnlight Studio's meeting room, Hayate sat on a couch across from Mori Kenji, a sharp, seasoned man.
"Saito, you said on the phone you want us to help make a game. You're not pulling my leg, right?" Mori asked, skepticism written on his face.
Just that morning, he'd called to check on Hayate, learning he'd been blacklisted by the industry and forced to consider a career change. Now, Hayate was pitching an outsourcing job? It sounded absurd.
Making a game wasn't a casual whim. From concept and gameplay to coding, art, and effects, every step demanded manpower, resources, and serious funding. If Mori didn't know Hayate's character, he'd have dismissed him as a nutcase.
"I'm dead serious," Hayate said firmly. "I've got a game proposal ready. The only issue is funding—it might take a few days."
"A few days isn't a problem. What kind of game are we talking about?"
"This one." Hayate slid a prepared design document across the table.
Though preliminary, it offered a clear glimpse of the project's scope.
Mori said nothing, picking up the papers and scanning them. Moments later, he gasped.
"This… you designed this?" He looked up, his eyes wide with unmasked shock.
In Mori's mind, Hayate was just a recent grad with decent programming skills. To present a design this polished, with every detail meticulously laid out, was beyond expectation.
The only thing that puzzled him was the game's genre.
"Card-based, strategy, nurturing, tower-climbing—these aren't exactly hot right now. You sure about this?"