Shizuoka Jirō didn't particularly care about intercity rivalry—where a high-profile entertainnt resort ended up didn't matter much to him.
But the the park Takayuki proposed... that idea alone made his heart race.
A the park!
And not just any the park—a massive one.
This level of the park was rare even on a national scale.
And Takayuki wanted to personally build one.
"Takayuki, this the park you're envisioning... it probably won't be cheap to build, will it? That money..."
Takayuki answered bluntly, "Our company currently has over 10 billion USD in reserves. That might still be a bit tight for building a park of this scale, but it's definitely enough for the initial phase. After that, I can continue investing with inco from our other projects."
...
...
T-Ten billion?!
Is making video gas really that profitable?
How many years has it even been since the company was founded?
If he had that kind of money, he'd already be among Japan's wealthiest individuals.
And yet Takayuki had quietly accumulated that kind of fortune.
Sure, it was technically the reserves of Gastar Entertainnt.
But Takayuki was the majority shareholder—it was essentially his personal net worth.
And yet he talked about it as if it were nothing, barely batting an eye.
Shizuoka Jirō now looked at him with entirely new respect.
"Of course, saving money is always good. So if possible, I'd like to acquire a piece of land near Tokyo at a lower price, with tax incentives and policy support as well. Naturally, the governnt would get sothing in return—this park would increase national inco, promote cultural exports, and perfectly align with the goals of the Cool Japan initiative. What do you think?"
It was more than reasonable—brilliant, even!
Shizuoka imdiately saw the potential in aligning the park with Cool Japan.
And the mont Takayuki brought it up, Shizuoka knew it was a winning idea.
Before this, the whole idea had seed too far-fetched, and land wasn't even within his jurisdiction.
But once it beca sothing that could significantly boost his political career, his attitude changed dramatically.
"Takayuki, leave it to —I'll do everything I can to make it happen! No, I'll call soone right now."
Eager, Shizuoka dashed out of the room to make a call, and returned shortly after.
"Takayuki, this has real potential! It'll take so ti, but the initial response is promising."
"I understand. There's no rush."
Shizuoka looked hopeful. "By the way, Takayuki... earlier, didn't you ntion another ga project?"
"Oh, that?" Takayuki smiled. "Yes, there's one more. But it'll co a bit later in the pipeline. Still, you can take a look at the proposal now—it's called Ghost of Tsushima."
"Tsushima?" The na sounded sowhat familiar to Shizuoka.
"Unlike Sekiro, Tsushima follows real historical events more closely."
Takayuki handed him another prepared pitch docunt.
Truthfully, even if Shizuoka hadn't asked, Takayuki was planning to unveil this ga later anyway. Using it now as a bargaining chip just helped him secure more advantages.
This proposal was simpler than Sekiro's. Sekiro required an original world and lore, while Tsushima was based on a real historical episode—though naturally, so creative liberties would be taken.
Ghost of Tsushima tells the story of Japan's resistance against the Mongol invasions. It was one of the few historical events Japan could proudly tout.
In this parallel world, though nas and details differed slightly, the key events remained similar.
Japan had faced two Mongol invasions, leading to intense battles. Technically, Japan hadn't won through military superiority—history just recorded it as a "victory." Takayuki suspected the Mongols never truly committed to a full-scale invasion. If they had, Japan might not have survived.
But there was no need to dig into those truths for this.
As Shizuoka continued reading, he found Tsushima even more compelling than Sekiro. Not necessarily in gaplay or style, but from a cultural export perspective—it had more educational and promotional value.
A story rooted in history would leave a deeper impression on global audiences than a fantastical tale.
With proper marketing, the ga could even beco a powerful tourism draw for the real Tsushima Island. It was exactly the kind of initiative he wanted.
"Takayuki, this ga is excellent too. You really are a national treasure. Every one of your gas leaves such a deep impression."
Shizuoka was increasingly impressed with Takayuki.
There were more hit titles under Takayuki's belt than he could count on both hands. Gars worshipped him as the "God of Gas," and Japan's elite were beginning to call him a master artist.
Lately, more and more people believed that video gas deserved to be considered an art form. If cinema was art, why not gas?
So Takayuki's recognition as a true artist felt entirely justified.
With Takayuki's permission, Shizuoka carefully set aside both proposals. Since Takayuki still had work to do, he didn't linger much longer and left with Tsukino Aya.
As for Shizuoka Jirō, he imdiately began lobbying various governnt departnts the very next day.
He threw himself into the role of Takayuki's vanguard, eager to convince the governnt to allocate a large enough piece of land for the the park.
Tokyo City barely hesitated before giving the green light.
After all, Osaka's Starloop Resort had beco a booming business, and Tokyo had envied it for years.
But in this world, there were very few companies with the capability to build a massive the park—and even fewer willing to do it in Japan.
Trying to lure in foreign investors was difficult.
But Takayuki?
He was one of their own. If he wanted to build a landmark gaming park, they'd be more than happy to support it.
It was far more cost-effective than letting foreign capital profit off dostic consurs.
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