From the very beginning, getting into traditional theaters was only ant to be the icing on the cake.
Takayuki's real goal was to get more people to buy his discs and cartridges.
Back in the GBA era, so animations had been released in cartridge form—for example, Nintendo's flagship franchise, Pokémon, had GBA animation cartridges.
But at that ti, cartridge production was very expensive, and storing video content on them was considered a luxury. That was around the early 2000s.
Now, however, flash mory technology had advanced significantly, and the cost of storage had dropped drastically compared to the past.
Movies didn't require ultra-high resolution, at least not yet, so standard capacities were more than sufficient.
Under these circumstances, distributing movies on cartridge had real potential in the market.
But for the public to accept this kind of product, it needed a compelling title—one that people would feel regretful not owning.
...
...
And clearly, Final Fantasy VII was the perfect choice.
After his call with Bob, the Facebook CEO, Bob imdiately sprang into action.
First, he started running internal promotions for his video platform on several ad sections of his social network.
Takayuki had ntioned it, and Bob had been wanting to see whether this "break-even" departnt could achieve a real breakthrough.
Soon, so subtle—but still eye-catching—ads began appearing across the platform, which now had over 100 million users.
These ad spaces had always been reserved for internal use—never sold externally. Occasionally, they were used for public service campaigns to boost the platform's image, helping people see Facebook as pure and user-first.
Even in normal circumstances, ads from this section had strong results. If the content quality went up, the effect would be extraordinary.
Alvin was a devoted Facebook user.
Originally a journalist and editor in the electronics field, he had gained popularity after several glowing reviews of Gastar Electronic Entertainnt. Many players appreciated how quickly he picked up on the magic of video gas.
Eventually, he started his own review site, covering a wide range of products—from portal websites to various gadgets and gas. He was now fairly well-known.
In terms of personal influence, he probably had more reach than Murakami Kazuo, the Japanese university student-turned-ga dia star cultivated by Takayuki.
Murakami had his own popular "Ga of the Year" program, but Alvin ran a site that spanned multiple categories—his position was closer to what IGN used to be.
And unlike the later versions of IGN, Alvin still had integrity—closer to the platform's more honest, original days.
Alvin considered himself soone who'd seen it all.
Lately, though, tech developnt seed to have hit a wall. He couldn't say exactly why—just that a lot of new gadgets felt lazy, with no real innovation.
Still, the new company founded by Redfruit's forr CEO, Myron Case, was a bright spot. Its products were clean and minimal, with a kind of elegant simplicity. But aside from aesthetics, there wasn't much tech progress.
Even so, it was the kind of company worth encouraging. At least it gave him material to work with—unlike those that did nothing but brag about performance specs.
These days, his daily routine included browsing tech news in the office, then diving deep into Facebook.
He didn't know why, but Facebook had a strange magic to it—he could sit there for hours, glued to his seat.
Everyone on there spoke so eloquently. So many talented voices.
Especially in the Social Square section—he could always find people sharing wild, creative ideas.
For a reviewer like him, it was a goldmine.
That day, as usual, he was browsing the Social Square on his work computer.
The platform had evolved into sothing resembling a trending-topic hub. The top 20 items were always the most-discussed topics across the entire network.
Sotis it was a celebrity scandal. Other tis, political news. He made it a habit to check the list every day so he wouldn't fall behind.
After checking the trending topics, he usually browsed to see if anyone had shared new insights or ideas.
But today, sothing in the fourth trending spot caught his eye:
"Cloud, please try a little harder."
At first glance, it sounded like soone pleading with a guy nad Cloud.
If you didn't know who that was, you'd probably find it confusing.
But Alvin's heart skipped a beat when he read it.
Cloud.
He knew that na all too well.
The protagonist of Final Fantasy VII.
A character who'd gone through countless harrowing adventures. The death of the quirky and beautiful Aerith had hit Alvin like a truck.
It was the first ti a video ga had ever stirred such powerful emotions in him.
When he first saw video gas at an international electronics expo, he thought they were just fun. And they were—he got hooked imdiately.
But that was all they were to him: fun. A casual pasti. No deeper aning. Just sothing like tennis or golf... or a movie.
But after playing through Final Fantasy VII, his entire view changed.
He realized gas could be deep.
The story seed simple—just a spiky-haired blonde punk going on an adventure.
But it wove in real-world thes like energy exploitation, showing how overuse of resources could lead to destruction.
Of course, those ssages were secondary—they added depth, but weren't what truly moved Alvin.
What really got to him was the emotional arc: Sephiroth's descent, the characters' growth, and most of all, Aerith's heartbreaking death.
Every character in Final Fantasy VII had a clear, distinct personality. None of them were redundant.
And that's what made the story so touching.
Sotis, the simplest thing—writing good, believable characters—is enough to move people.
Playing that ga felt like watching a brilliant movie... or reading an epic serialized novel. It left him wanting more.
When the story ended—when the team united to stop the teor and save the world—he felt a bittersweet emptiness.
"If only the story could go on..."
He had high hopes for Final Fantasy VIII, hoping it would continue where VII left off.
But unfortunately, it didn't. There was no true sequel.
Final Fantasy VII rchandise, however, dropped imdiately and sold like wildfire.
Most iconic were the character figurines.
In the U.S., a high-quality, posable figure could go for over $500—enough to buy ten copies of the ga.
Even so, they sold out instantly.
Rumor had it Gastar made over $100 million just from figure sales. Who knew if that was true.
What was certain was the absurd level of demand.
Other companies could only watch in envy—none of them had managed to create a ga with that kind of legacy.
So when Alvin saw that na on the trending list again years later, he clicked in without hesitation.
He assud it was just another wave of nostalgia.
He felt the sa, after all. That ga still lived in his heart.
But once the page loaded, he realized this wasn't the usual discussion thread.
It was a special link.
At the top center was a large video module.
And the logo loading in? The Final Fantasy VII emblem.
Thanks to high-speed internet, the video loaded in no ti.
It was a trailer for the Final Fantasy VII movie.
But unlike the brief teaser from before, this one was far more complete—it showed Aerith, Tifa in a new outfit, and even more stylized, striking character designs.
Alvin had watched the entire Gastar Carnival livestream, so he already knew about the Final Fantasy VII movie announcent at the end.
He was excited then—felt like his wishes had finally co true.
But... it was a movie, not a ga.
And it was fully CG. That dampened his enthusiasm.
He preferred live-action films. Special effects were fine, but full CG? That was for kids.
If not for the Final Fantasy VII na, he would've closed the tab already.
Half-heartedly, he let the video play while he worked.
The new trailer ran for a full five minutes—basically summarizing all the major plot points of the film.
The story took place after the teor was stopped, in the city once ruled by Shinra.
Mako extraction had ceased, and the company had fallen into decline.
The old president was dead, and his successor—his child—seed to be hiding sothing, even wearing a mask.
From the trailer, it looked like the city was suffering from a mysterious illness, mostly affecting children.
It was called Geostigma.
Then, Cloud appeared—wearing a slick new outfit, wielding an even cooler sword.
This ti, the sword could split apart.
He sped across the wastelands on a new motorcycle.
Suddenly, a trio of mysterious figures blocked his path, leading to an insane motorcycle duel.
But the trailer cut off just as the battle began.
It left viewers hanging.
Sowhere along the way, Alvin had completely stopped working. His eyes were wide, glued to the screen.
This trailer was longer, higher quality, and packed with more details.
When it cut to black at the most exciting mont, he froze—wondering if the video had crashed.
He hit refresh, hoping to see the rest.
Sa result. The trailer ended at the exact sa point.
Who did this?!
Why stop there?
It was only a minute or so from the climax—just show the whole thing!
Damn it!
Alvin was losing his mind.
Sure, he knew Cloud would be fine. He was the protagonist—he wasn't going to die.
But still. Knowing and seeing are two different things.
He tried refreshing a few more tis, but it was no use. It always stopped at that critical point.
Finally, he gave up.
But the frustration still burned inside him.
Now with nothing else to do, he explored the rest of the page.
It was Facebook's new video section.
Many familiar TV and movie titles were listed. For a small fee, you could unlock more content.
Alvin had never cared before.
But when he saw that subscribing would grant early access to Final Fantasy VII trailers?
He didn't hesitate.
He clicked straight to the paynt page—and bought a three-year subscription on the spot.
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