"Many of you may not know this, but Unreal Engine has an AI-assisted modeling feature. This function can modify real-world buildings to a certain extent, making them different from their original appearance, and then use those assets to build an entire city. With this thod, even a single person can create a city on a scale comparable to Cyberpunk 2077. Of course, the city in Cyberpunk 2077 isn’t just about appearances—there’s much more to it. You’ll understand once the ga is released."
Takayuki skillfully operated the Unreal Engine system. In no ti at all, he had built a city nearly identical in scale to the one used in the reskinned ga Cyberpunk 2078.
"If I were an independent developer, I actually wouldn’t recomnd directly developing an open-world ga. Open worlds aren’t just about piling content together. A qualified open-world ga needs rich content that doesn’t beco repetitive—and that’s not sothing one or two developers can realistically achieve. The workload usually requires at least hundreds of people."
"So I’d still recomnd starting with linear gas. Don’t obsess over scale. Sotis, going big only exposes a ga’s emptiness. But since Cyberpunk 2078 already has a basic foundation, we can build upon it—such as adding fresher gaplay chanics."
"Look here. In the exploration phase of the ga, we can incorporate narrative and gaplay, instead of just running around the city causing destruction."
Takayuki patiently identified each flaw in the ga and fixed them one by one.
These were issues he’d already discovered while playing the ga earlier. Now, he was simply listing them out and correcting them in Unreal Engine’s backend. The process was extrely fast—most of the serious bugs were fixed in about half an hour.
To Takayuki, this was nothing special. He’d already played the ga and knew its issues inside out. As a ga developer, fixing bugs like these was well within his skill set.
But to the developers watching below, what Takayuki was doing looked like pure magic.
If they hadn’t seen it with their own eyes, they might’ve believed the ga was made by Takayuki himself.
Otherwise, how could he possibly understand it so thoroughly?
"Mr. Hanladi, right?"
Takayuki continued fixing bugs while calling out to him.
"Huh?"
"There’s a fairly serious critical bug in your ga. It’s triggered when a building in the city is destroyed. If you’re unlucky, it can cause the entire ga file to corrupt, forcing players to delete everything and redownload the ga. That’s devastating for players and would make many of them abandon the ga entirely. But the fix is actually simple, and it’s not hard to find either. Did you discover this bug during developnt?"
"I..." Hanladi was left speechless.
How could he have found it?
He’d thrown the ga together in a single day, uploaded it to Battle, and then sat back waiting for the money to roll in. He had zero interest in bugs.
In his mind, bugs were normal. So what if they existed? He was just there to make quick cash. Whether players got angry didn’t matter to him at all.
But now, he had no choice but to care.
Because countless eyes were on him.
He didn’t even need to look at their expressions—he already knew what they were thinking.
Look at you. You don’t even understand the ga you made. Are you really a ga developer? How did soone like you ever beco one?
He knew deep down that he wasn’t really a developer.
But people still had pride—especially under the gaze of so many others.
His breathing grew rapid, and he beca visibly uncomfortable.
"Alright, this bug has been fixed. The ga is basically playable now—but this alone isn’t enough. There are still several areas with potential art copyright issues. Of course, I may have missed so, since I’m not fully familiar with every asset."
Takayuki kept talking while continuing to patch the ga, fixing bugs and replacing elents with potential copyright risks.
Replacing models and art assets wasn’t difficult. Unreal Engine was powerful, and he could simply swap them out using the official asset libraries available.
Yet even such trivial tasks—re clicks—were things Hanladi had clearly never bothered to do seriously.
After about an hour, Takayuki had fixed the major bugs, replaced risky assets, and even refined so gaplay chanics.
In just one hour, a completely transford ga was born.
Before, the ga’s environnt was nothing more than a generic modern city.
After the asset replacents and adjustnts, it still didn’t feel very cyberpunk—but it was far better than before.
Then there was the gaplay experience.
Before Takayuki’s changes, everyone could see constant fra drops and stuttering. During the process, there were even crashes.
But after an hour, while not everything was perfect, the ga was no longer painful to play.
At the very least, it had reached the level of "playable."
"This... this is basically electronic magic. How did he do that? I barely looked away, and Takayuki had already fixed so many bugs. I didn’t even see how he did it."
"It’s not actually that hard. Once you’ve pinpointed the bugs and have clear solutions, fixing them really is just a matter of doing it. The hard part isn’t the fixing—it’s the fact that this isn’t Takayuki’s ga, yet he understands it so deeply. That’s what’s truly absurd."
"Exactly. That’s the most unbelievable part. And there’s only one way that’s possible—he must’ve played the ga, and probably beaten it more than once. But for a trash ga like this, I wouldn’t even make it past the opening. How did Takayuki even manage to play it?"
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