"No way! Absolutely not! Is it really happening?"
"God of gas! God of gas!"
"Wait, we can't get too excited. What if it's not what we think?"
As Takayuki spoke, the hosts in the livestream seed to have already guessed sothing.
Two of them were so overwheld they squatted down in their seats, eyes shining.
Those were eyes filled with hope — and disbelief.
On the screen, Takayuki finished his last sentence: "Everyone, please watch the upcoming preview. I hope this preview will be a love letter to every player who ever loved this ga."
...
...
The big screen lit up.
And in that mont — in the venue, in the livestream studio, even among the chat discussions — there was a brief silence. People seed to forget how to speak or type.
An aged voice began to narrate, just like in the Sekiro preview earlier, telling a story.
But this ti, the players reacted differently.
Many of them began to tremble slightly.
"No, no, no..."
"God of gas! God of gas!"
The hosts in Kazuo Murakami's livestream started shouting Takayuki's nickna at the top of their lungs.
"Calm down, everyone. It's probably nothing. I'm guessing it's a novel, or maybe just a new animation."
"Even if it's just an animation, I'll be satisfied!"
As the old voice in the preview faded, a familiar lody finally began to play.
It was the main the from a ga that had brought countless players to tears.
But now, it had a more modern twist.
Still, it wasn't quite enough to send the players into a frenzy.
They hadn't yet seen what they were really hoping for.
Two seconds later, a silhouette appeared on the screen.
It was a dark figure — because the whole scene was dimly lit.
But even though it was just a shadowy back view, they recognized him imdiately.
Because he carried a massive sword on his back.
That sword ant one thing.
Only one person in this world carried that sword.
And at that mont, the preview ended.
"It's a new video! A new animation!"
"Yeah! Definitely just a new animation!"
The hosts in the Murakami livestream were still confidently speculating.
Then the familiar teor logo of the series slowly appeared.
"Final Fantasy VII... a new ga animation! Looks like that hidden Easter egg was telling the truth. I think it's gonna be—ohhhhhh!!!"
One of the hosts, mid-sentence, suddenly let out a scream.
Because they were all wrong.
They thought it would be a new animated short, maybe a side novel or a stage play.
But when the preview faded to a single word on the screen, the entire venue, the entire stream, every corner of the internet watching that broadcast exploded.
Remake.
A full remake.
That one word ant this was a completely rebuilt version of Final Fantasy VII.
And for players, that was the ultimate love letter.
Takayuki had kept his promise.
After more than ten years, the remake of Final Fantasy VII was now officially revealed in this world.
In the venue, the roar of cheering players was even more intense than during the recent Gastar World Cup championship.
After all, a champion only gets cheers from their supporters.
But now, practically every gar was cheering.
Myron Kess felt like it was unbearably loud. Deafening.
All around him, people were screaming one na:
Final Fantasy VII.
Even Harukawa Ueto, who was nearing fifty, was yelling with excitent — totally abandoning the dignified air of a corporate executive.
"Co on, Myron, just be young for a mont! Shout Final Fantasy VII at the top of your lungs — it'll make your blood boil!"
Harukawa tugged at Myron's sleeve, but Myron just covered his ears, visibly annoyed.
Still, he couldn't suppress the envy in his heart.
At this mont, players were consud by passion.
And it wasn't for him — it was for that one ga, Final Fantasy VII.
In this world, the original Final Fantasy VII had sold over 40 million copies.
Over 20 million in the first year.
Another 20 million over the following decade.
What most didn't know was that the ga had retained a consistent price of around $30.
Which ant those later 20 million copies alone had brought in over $600 million in revenue — and at least half of that in profit.
A ga generating that kind of return after a decade? Other software developers would cry from envy.
If they had known how profitable gas could be, they would've switched industries long ago!
Myron Kess was now thinking the sa.
If Final Fantasy VII belonged to him, then this glorious mont would also belong to him.
That's the magic of video gas.
Regardless of age or background, everyone was united in this shared emotional experience.
Tens of millions of sales were more than just a number.
It ant tens of millions of people had been moved by Final Fantasy VII.
And based on the 63% completion rate reported by the company, over 20 million players had seen it through.
And after finishing it, all of them had the sa thought: "I wish the story could be rewritten. I wish the ending could be different."
Eventually, even the ga's strategy guides sold millions of copies.
Printing companies had to use cheaper paper just to keep up with demand, but players didn't care.
So bought the guides just to collect them.
Rumors even spread that the strategy guides held the key to a perfect ending — which sent sales skyrocketing and turned the whole situation into a sociological phenonon that researchers studied for a while.
And now, with the announcent of the remake, all of that energy erupted.
Players who had once been deeply touched by the ga were now shouting like never before.
"Midgar! Sephiroth! I'm coming back! I'll rewrite it all!"
"My Aerith!"
"My Tifa!"
"My Barret?!"
"Wait, who's yelling 'my Barret'?"
"My Hojo!!!"
"Hey, hey! These fetishes are getting weirder and weirder!"
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