"Dad... why are you crying?"
In the Tajima family ho in Japan, Old Tajima—who had already retired and settled into a leisurely life—was sitting on the couch with his son.
The two of them had just finished watching Cyberpunk: Edgerunners.
Although he was already in his fifties, Old Tajima’s mindset was still very youthful.
He was among the first generation to co into contact with video gas, and of course he had played a major title like Cyberpunk 2077.
In fact, he was still playing it to this day.
He had already logged more than four hundred hours in the ga, playing at least six or seven hours a day without fail.
Today, he had originally planned to log in again and continue exploring the ga world.
There was simply too much content packed into that world—almost overflowing—and for soone his age, it was just right.
He had the patience to play a single ga slowly and tirelessly, imrsing himself in exploration.
Cyberpunk 2077 gave him that opportunity.
The sheer accumulation of details made the ga feel almost like a real world.
Old Tajima even felt that this ga might accompany him for the rest of his life.
With so much content, he doubted he could ever fully explore it all.
But just as he logged in, preparing to continue his adventure as a rcenary, his son—Young Tajima—got off work early that day and excitedly dragged him to the living room.
There was a very special animation airing today.
It was called Cyberpunk: Edgerunners, a spin-off of Cyberpunk 2077.
"Dad, you love this ga so much—you can’t possibly miss this."
Old Tajima wasn’t particularly interested in animation, but hearing that it was a Cyberpunk spin-off, he figured he might as well give it a try.
And so, he watched the entire series in one sitting with his son.
Tokyo Television had dedicated an entire afternoon to this single animation, postponing many previously scheduled programs.
When it ended, Young Tajima turned to his father and asked that question.
"Dad... why are you crying?"
n in their fifties were usually the hardest to shake emotionally.
They had seen the ups and downs of life.
And yet, today, he couldn’t help but shed tears.
Hearing his son’s words, Old Tajima hurriedly raised his hand and wiped his cheeks, looking a bit embarrassed.
Then he forced a smile and looked at his son.
"You little brat, I wasn’t—huh? Aren’t you crying too?"
Seriously—he was crying himself and still had the nerve to point it out.
Young Tajima’s eyes were red, and faint tear tracks were still visible on his face.
This animation spared no one.
Its story could emotionally devastate n and won, young and old alike.
Neither father nor son had escaped.
Young Tajima spoke righteously, "I’m young—what’s wrong with crying a bit? But you, Dad—weren’t you always bragging about how you’d seen it all and wouldn’t shed tears so easily?"
"Well... uh..."
Old Tajima was left speechless.
"Alright, Dad, let’s stop teasing each other. What did you think of the animation?"
"Hmm... it was excellent. Just judging by the story alone, it was flawless. I’ve honestly never seen an animation like that before."
Young Tajima said disdainfully, "That just ans you haven’t watched enough ani. Great ani stories are no worse than live-action dramas. It’s only you old-school folks who think animation is just for kids. Your attitude’s changed now, hasn’t it?"
"...Yes. That’s true."
Old Tajima couldn’t help but recall the days when he had passionately promoted video gas.
Back then, the gas he praised were often mocked and misunderstood.
People didn’t understand how sothing like that could be so beloved.
It looked childish.
Video gas at the ti were just blocks of pixels—barely recognizable humanoid shapes.
Many people his age, and even older, couldn’t see what was fun about them.
They thought gas were just toys for kids.
When Tajima strongly advocated for video gas, he faced plenty of criticism.
At one point, it nearly put his own position at risk, as many industry veterans openly and covertly targeted him.
Fortunately, Gastar Electronic Entertainnt rose too rapidly.
Those who had mocked and sneered were eventually silenced—by the governnt itself.
Anything that brought massive benefits to the governnt was worth supporting.
And what could those critics who only waved pens around all day offer in comparison?
Nothing.
So they were told to shut up.
Later, a high-ranking executive at Nihon Keizai Shimbun also leaned heavily in favor of Gastar Electronic Entertainnt.
That was how Old Tajima managed to keep his job.
Over ti, he beca a strong supporter of video gas, personally helping promote them and gradually building a reputation.
He had to admit it—
He did carry biases against the animation industry.
He himself had grown up in an environnt full of prejudice.
"This animation really changed my view of the entire ani industry."
"Heh heh. Then next ti, I’ll recomnd a few more great ani for you, Dad."
"Sounds good!"
Seeing his recomndation succeed, Young Tajima was very pleased.
"By the way, Dad... do you have any thoughts right now?" he suddenly asked sothing odd.
"Thoughts? What thoughts?" Old Tajima was confused.
"Every ti I think about the ani’s plot, I grind my teeth with hatred toward Adam Smasher. Don’t you want to go beat the hell out of Adam Smasher right now?"
"...Now that you ntion it—"
Old Tajima suddenly sprang up from the couch.
"Let’s go! Crush Adam Smasher!"
"Crush him! Crush him!" Young Tajima was just as furious.
It seed that everyone who finished watching the animation had a similar reaction.
Later on, so people even studied this phenonon and gave it a unified na.
They called it:
"Adam Smasher Syndro."
Its symptoms were strikingly consistent—
After watching the ani, people would feel an uncontrollable urge to imdiately log into the ga and utterly annihilate Adam Smasher.
"You two idiots! We finally get a full day together as a family, and you spent the whole afternoon watching ani. And now you want to go play gas? Both of you—get into the kitchen and help cook!"
Young Tajima’s mother finally snapped.
It was rare for the whole family to spend an entire day together, and these two had wasted the whole afternoon watching ani—she’d had enough.
"Just a little while! Just a little while!"
"We’ll help after we crush Adam Smasher once!"
Father and son shouted in unison.
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