Video Game Tycoon in Tokyo-Chapter 953: Trust Me, It’s Possible

"Looks like I have no choice but to use that move,"Takayuki muttered to himself.

"President, what move?"

Takayuki asked,

"Hmm... Before that, let me ask—what's the current situation for digital game sales on our Battlenet platform, home consoles, and handhelds?"

"It's decent. More and more users are opting for digital editions, but most still prefer physical copies. The advantage of physical games is that players can resell or lend them to others after finishing, and honestly, President, that really impacts our sales since we don't earn anything from secondhand circulation."

The resale and rental market had always existed in a legal gray area across the world.

Back in the day, the VHS rental business operated without paying any royalties to film copyright holders. Shops could rent out their purchased tapes at low prices, and the copyright owners had no way to profit from it.

The only benefit they received was greater exposure and recognition for the films.

But obviously, most creators would have preferred real money over vague benefits like popularity.

...

...

In both his previous world and this one, there had been numerous legal cases where copyright holders sued VHS rental stores, accusing them of infringement.

But they always lost—because ownership rights protected the consumer. Whoever bought the VHS had the right to do what they wanted with it, and courts wouldn't interfere.

After losing enough lawsuits, copyright holders finally gave up on trying to demand license fees.

Then, with the rise of the internet and digital streaming platforms, the VHS rental model gradually faded from existence. freewebnøvel.com

But video games faced the same issue.

Gamers who bought physical cartridges or discs could resell or rent them cheaply to others—and copyright owners couldn't do a thing about it.

Companies like Surei Electronics and Brown Entertainment had tried suing, but all failed miserably.

Takayuki understood clearly that there was no winning these cases. And he had zero desire to restrict players' rights to share games.

So he never got involved in those lawsuits.

Still, the business department had repeatedly asked Takayuki to consider cracking down on secondhand and rental distribution.

From a technical standpoint, it would've been easy for Gamestar Electronic Entertainment.

All they'd need to do was add security code locks to their cartridges—like binding the game to the first console it's inserted into, locking out future access on any other machine.

Or even more extreme: render the cartridge unusable once it's detected on a different console, making resale impossible.

The idea was that this would force more players to buy new copies.

But when the business team pitched this to Takayuki, he looked at them and said,

"I don't want to hear suggestions like that again. I will never do something like that. First and foremost, I'm a gamer, and second, I'm a game developer. That's a principle that will never change. As a gamer, I would hate the kind of measures you're proposing."

"I—I'm sorry, President. I won't bring it up again."

The business executive quickly broke into a cold sweat and apologized.

Takayuki was rarely this stern. His tone snapped the team into realizing—they'd been challenging the authority of someone who truly understood and loved games.

The developers in the room felt a sense of relief—and a deep respect for Takayuki's stance.

Only with that kind of mindset could truly great games be made.

"Look, we can't stop people from lending or reselling games. If we try, we'll just be alienating players. Sure, we might make a quick buck in the short term, but the long-term loss would be far greater."

In fact, given Gamestar's size and reputation, and the quality of its games, even if Takayuki did implement such draconian anti-resale measures, players would probably still buy them—because the games were just too good.

But there was a precedent from his past world.

Microsoft had once tried similar tactics and ended up ceding a huge portion of its market to competitors.

Takayuki had no intention of making the same mistake.

"I have another method—gentler, and one that players will be happy to accept. It will get them to willingly buy more digital games."

"What is it?"

"Simple—discounts."

"Discounts?"

Could discounts really help? Gamestar had done discount campaigns before, and they didn't always move the needle much for digital sales.

"I know what you're thinking—that discounts don't work. But I'm saying the problem is that we haven't gone far enough."

"Not far enough...?"One person asked hesitantly,"President, how far do you want to go?"

"90% off. 80% off. Sell games for just 10–20% of their original price. Who could resist that?"

Everyone stared at Takayuki in stunned silence.

Their expressions were difficult to describe.

It was as if to say:

"President... have you gone mad?"

Could they really make money like this?

"Trust me—we'll make it work."

Takayuki's eyes were firm.

"And if even this doesn't work, I've got more tricks up my sleeve."

One staffer quickly interrupted him,

"But President—if we offer such massive discounts, won't that hurt future sales of our games?"

"No need to worry. These discounts will be carefully planned. Games released within one year won't get more than a 20% discount, unless they're underperforming or of lower quality."

He paused, then continued:

"Games released two years ago can go for half price. Games three years or older can go even lower."

"I've already thought about the scheduling too. We'll align the discounts with the four seasons—spring, summer, autumn, and winter. During the periods when players are most likely to spend, we'll launch a massive sale."

"I'll call it the Seasonal Sale Festival."