"I think you may have misunderstood sothing."
Evan continued pitching his product with great enthusiasm.
This ti, he was confident he could finally convince Takayuki.
After all, he had recently caught wind—through various channels—that Gastar Electronic Entertainnt's revenue had declined.
Gastar usually didn't publicly disclose its business performance, but regular tax reporting to the governnt was still necessary. Naturally, so information would leak during this process.
There was also the official sales statistics from the BattleNet platform.
That was a function left over from their past competition with Surei Electronics, and it was never removed.
It had since beco a reference for many in the industry. Ga developers would check the rankings to monitor current trends and decide what kinds of gas might sell well.
Even players without strong genre preferences could use the rankings to find gas that were at least widely accepted.
...
...
Takayuki interrupted Evan's long-winded pitch and pointed to a clock on the wall: "You have two minutes left."
"Uh..."
Evan was stunned for a second, then said, "Mr. Takayuki, do you still think our product isn't good enough? Recently, our encryption software has helped many companies increase the value of their gas. Their sales have gone up significantly. But your company's titles are suffering heavy losses due to the current wave of piracy."
Takayuki narrowed his eyes. "From the way you're speaking, it sounds like you're saying that unless I buy your encryption product, our ga sales will continue to decline?"
"No, no, that's absolutely not what I an. Mr. Takayuki, your gas are fantastic. I always buy them the mont they release—sotis even the collector's editions just to have them in my collection."
"Well, thank you for liking my gas," said Takayuki.
Evan quickly added, "And it's precisely because I recognize how good your gas are that they need proper care and protection. My encryption product is a way to do that."
Takayuki said, "But like I said before—if your product impacts ga performance while running, I won't use it. Are you here to try and change my mind again? Or have you solved that problem and can now guarantee your software won't consu any resources during gaplay?"
"Well... that issue still can't be solved. Or rather..."
Or rather—it was unsolvable.
Encryption software, by design, had to run alongside the ga at all tis.
That was how it could provide maximum protection and detect piracy in real-ti.
But if it, as Takayuki demanded, had no impact on ga performance, then it would lose its core function.
In essence, Takayuki's requirent was fundantally at odds with how this kind of software works.
At least, for now, these two things couldn't be reconciled.
Takayuki shrugged. "Then we have nothing more to discuss. You have one minute left."
"Mr. Takayuki, I must be frank. If you don't take proper asures, your gas will continue to lose value. Gars are a group that loves getting things for free. If they can play a ga without paying, they absolutely will. Abandoning encryption just to avoid a small performance hit is unwise."
Takayuki replied with a mocking smile: "You're a gar too, aren't you? That ans you just insulted yourself. And I think you seriously underestimate the ethics of the gaming community. Yes, people like free stuff—but most players also have a moral compass."
Just like Takayuki himself. When he grew up and gained purchasing power, he made it a point to buy the gas he had played as a pirate when younger.
It wasn't really about playing them again—it was more about peace of mind.
Or maybe sothing else.
And there were many people like him.
As more players matured and gained the ability to spend money, they started paying for the gas they once pirated.
This behavior helped revive so very old gas.
In his original world, while major titles dominated, niche gas also found space thanks to players who deeply loved the dium.
Back then, independent developers rarely had encryption tools. Sotis their gas would be pirated before even clearing official platform reviews.
And yet, those gas still found success, allowing small devs to survive.
But Evan was clearly pushing his ssage too far.
It seed he was so obsessed with selling his product that he had lost all sense of proportion.
"Mr. Takayuki," Evan said coldly, "you really are outdated. You'll see—your gas will be swallowed by piracy. And you'll fade away. It's a real sha... a big gaming company like yours headed toward ruin."
Outdated?
Of course, people in this world didn't know Takayuki had experience from another world.
In that world, he had already seen every phase of the gaming industry.
Piracy waves, political-correctness trends, exclusive-title booms, the rise and fall of encryption software—he had seen it all.
To others, he looked like soone resistant to change.
But to Takayuki, these trends were old news—so old, he was sick of seeing them.
"All right, your ti's up. I have work to do. Don't co back to my company again—we won't welco you." Takayuki stood up, preparing to see him out.
But then sothing in Evan's expression caught Takayuki's attention.
"By the way, your tone earlier... it sounded like a threat. You seem quite confident that piracy will bring us down. So—what exactly is your connection to piracy?"
"Nothing! I'm just giving you a friendly warning," Evan quickly denied. "How could I possibly be connected to piracy?"
But his smug look said otherwise.
"Even if I were connected, Mr. Takayuki, could you even accuse without evidence?"
"Evidence?" Takayuki raised an eyebrow. "If I really wanted evidence... it wouldn't be hard to get."
"Huh? What do you an?"
Takayuki smiled. "Clearly, you don't really understand Gastar Electronic Entertainnt. Do you know how many experts we have in internet technology and computer forensics?"
Evan frowned.
He didn't understand why Takayuki was suddenly talking like this—but he started to feel a vague sense of unease.
"Our company has a top-tier AI team. We also have a world-class research group in programming and computing called the Stanford Legion. We're connected with several universities. Do you really think I don't have the ans to handle your little tricks?"
Evan was stunned.
Stanford Legion?
What the hell was that?
It sounded powerful... but he had never heard of it before.
Not that surprising—only veteran insiders would know about Gastar Electronic Entertainnt's internal structure.
Gastar currently had 20 official ga developnt departnts.
10 were in Japan, the company's ho base.
4 were in the U.S., each handling different genres and developing Western-style gas like Uncharted, GTA, and Cyberpunk 2077.
Europe, Australia, and Africa combined had 6 developnt departnts.
These 20 teams produced high-quality gas year-round—they were the company's front-line troops.
Takayuki personally managed them. Aside from being president, he also sat on the board for ga developnt.
Behind those teams were the engine developnt division and VFX studio—also under Takayuki's command.
Gastar also had 5 engineering departnts: 3 in Japan, 2 in the U.S.
They handled all ga-related hardware developnt, led by engineering director Airi Hayazawa.
Matsuhashi Minoru oversaw all business operations, marketing, and expansion—he was the company's chief executive director.
And then, there was one more team—semi-secret, but easy to find out about with a little digging.
The Stanford Legion.
It operated with military-style independence, fully autonomous and not directly managed by the company. It had only one leader:
Aya Tsukino.
The Stanford Legion was the peak of computing power.
Every technical problem Gastar faced—they solved it.
Everyone in the Legion ca from Stanford, all top-tier in computer-related fields.
Stanford had a deep partnership with Gastar. If a student passed Aya Tsukino's interview, they could bypass HR entirely and get hired directly—with high pay.
Their only task: solve Gastar's toughest problems.
Whether it was ga programming, new software, server maintenance, or cybersecurity.
And when necessary—they acted as the company's hidden dagger.
Ready to strike with lethal precision.
"The Stanford Legion..."
Takayuki said calmly, "Believe —the internet is not a lawless land. What you think is 'leaving no trace' may fool regular people. But to professionals, your so-called stealth is nothing but a clumsy trick."
He walked up to Evan and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm the senior here. You're the junior. I'll give you this advice—don't let catch you doing anything stupid. Or your end will be worse than you can imagine."
At this mont, all of Takayuki's earlier casualness was gone.
Now, he radiated an overwhelming authority.
It was the calm, honed presence built through experience and ti.
Evan, barely in his twenties, couldn't hope to match that.
Especially considering Takayuki had ten extra years of experience from his previous life.
On the internet, never assu you're truly hidden.
The only way to never leave a trace is to do nothing at all.
Once you act, the data always tells the truth.
Evan began to sweat.
He no longer cared to exchange pleasantries. Sweating profusely, he hurried out of Gastar Electronic Entertainnt.
The mont he exited the building, he called his partner.
"Hello? Hey—I want to know if we covered our tracks properly."
"What? Covered perfectly? No way anyone could find us?"
"You sure?"
"What do you an, you're not sure?! You said everything would be wiped clean!"
"You're saying data can't be totally erased?!"
"Damn it!"
Evan bolted from the Gastar headquarters.
anwhile, the Stanford Legion was already in motion.
In fact, they had begun investigating the piracy wave as soon as it began.
Aya Tsukino was a programming genius.
Her specialty had always been cyber offense and defense.
Now, she was back in her elent.
Her team was made up of elite minds in internet and computer science.
Against such a team, very little could stay hidden on the internet.
In cyberspace, evidence didn't need to be direct.
Even the tiniest bit of data could beco irrefutable proof.
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