Game Tycoon C520 Sudden and devastating move

The moment the couple slipped on the VR headsets, they were greeted by a pixelated paradise—a vast meadow of soft green, stretching as far as the eye could see.

In the middle of that sea of flowers stood their daughter.

Akane.

Though the rendering wasn't perfect—her form was slightly blocky, her outline a bit jagged—it was unmistakably her. The way she swayed, the familiar tilt of her head, the gentle hum on her lips… it was Akane, as they remembered her.

The mother gasped, covering her mouth.

“My daughter…”

She broke into a run, the father close behind.
In the simulation, Akane turned to them, sensing their presence.

A menu appeared in the corner of the screen—simple interaction prompts.
They could speak to her. Hug her. Hear her responses, drawn from hundreds of hours of recordings, scans, memories, and voice synthesis.

And so, they did.

The couple began to talk with her, laugh with her, weep with her.

It was a scene of pure, heart-wrenching beauty.

The KiShin production team was silent, cameras rolling steadily. Several crew members stood frozen, tears streaking down their cheeks as they watched from behind their monitors.

Even the director, usually stoic, dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief, quietly muttering,

“Damn it… I wasn’t ready for this.”

Shinro stood in the shadows, hands in his pockets, staring at the monitor.
He let out a long, slow sigh.

“No matter how rich, how successful, how powerful we are… we all face the same ending: death.”

That truth sat heavy in his chest.

He and Mira had started living healthier—daily exercise, clean diets, meditation.
They still looked young, vibrant even—but it wasn’t enough. Time always wins.

His eyes stayed fixed on the screen as the scene unfolded—the family reunited, even if just for a moment.

“I wonder...” he thought. “Could memories be transferred? Could a brain—its patterns, thoughts, and spirit—be digitized? Stored? Recreated in a virtual world that continues even after death?”

He had recently approved a quiet project within KiShin’s R&D division—a classified experiment on brain data mapping and virtual consciousness emulation. Ethical lines were blurred. No public announcement had been made.

But Shinro’s mind kept circling the idea.

‘If we could make it possible… humanity could live on—not biologically, but digitally. In a world where death isn’t the end.’

He knew the idea was dangerous, possibly immoral. But it tugged at him like gravity.

‘KiShin is one of the most valuable companies in the world. And the only way to stay ahead… is to dare where others fear to tread.’

With one last glance at the family on-screen, he turned and walked away.

Not out of indifference—
but because his next step would shape the future.

---

While KiShin was preparing to emotionally shake the world with its upcoming VR documentary—featuring a couple reuniting with their deceased daughter in a virtual space, and Kumiko continuing to interact with her late husband Sazama—the video game industry was heading into chaos.

Particularly in the PC gaming world, things were beginning to shift in a troubling direction.

In early July 2003, during a major tech conference, Will Gates stunned the industry by announcing a drastic new policy:

“Starting this year, Windows will adopt a closed operating system model. Any application generating revenue—whether through subscriptions, in-app purchases, or direct sales—will now be required to pay a percentage of those earnings to Microsoft.”

The development world was blindsided.

“What the hell? This is a monopoly!” one indie developer shouted on a livestream.

“We never agreed to this!”

“This is a disaster—what are they thinking?”

Forums, tech blogs, and developer networks exploded with outrage.

But the fallout didn’t stop at developers.

Gamers felt it too.

Because now, platforms like KiShin Play Software (KPS), Steam, Netscape Arcade, and others had to pay a cut of every transaction—which meant only one thing: prices were going up.

Even monthly subscriptions on platforms like KPS were projected to rise to cover the new Windows tax.

“Why are my favorite games suddenly more expensive?” one gamer complained on Reddit-like forums.

“What’s that weird Will guy thinking? He just nuked the PC gaming world.”

Another user replied with cynicism:

“Don’t you get it? He’s trying to crush other game distributors like Steam. Especially KiShin. Bet the only store that won’t suffer is Microsoft’s new platform—Windows Play.”

“Wait, what’s Windows Play? I thought it was just the regular Microsoft Store?”

“Nah, it’s their rebranded gaming hub. Supposedly better features. Still miles behind KPS and Steam, though.”

“Great. Now I have to pay more just to enjoy my games. What’s next—paying extra just to open the Start menu?”

Complaints kept pouring in. Many accused Microsoft of corporate greed, claiming the move had nothing to do with fairness and everything to do with undermining KiShin's dominance.

When a reporter questioned Will Gates about the decision, his response was a calculated shrug:

“Well, I looked at KiShin's ventures in this new space called ‘smartphones.’ They’ve got the iPhone and the AppStore, right? They charge developers a cut on every app sold. I just thought... if KiShin can do it, why can’t we?”

That quote set the internet ablaze.

Some people—either uninformed or misled—started blaming KiShin, accusing them of setting a precedent.

But those who paid closer attention saw the move for what it was:

‘A clever PR deflection.
Will Gates gave KiShin the “credit”… so that they’d also get the blame.’

---

Inside the KiShin conference room, the atmosphere was tense. Chairman Shinro Suzuki sat at the head of the table, calm and composed, as his top executives voiced their concerns about Microsoft’s latest move.

Takamura, one of the senior execs, leaned forward, his brow furrowed.

“Chairman Shinro… this isn’t good. Even though the fee implementation hasn’t rolled out yet, the market’s already reacting. We’re projecting a noticeable drop in user retention on KPS. Developers might jump ship to Windows Play—even if it’s unlikely, it’s still a threat.”

Another executive spoke next.

“It’s clear—this is America’s way of applying pressure. Microsoft is cornering the ecosystem. The only way to minimize losses might be direct negotiation.”

A third chimed in with a resigned sigh.

“We can’t control the Windows OS. As long as they’re not violating antitrust laws, they can dictate the rules—and we’re forced to follow.”

Shinro said nothing.

He simply sat there, fingers steepled, eyes contemplative. Inside, his thoughts were sharper than ever.

“So this is how you want to play it, Will Gates?” he mused, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Finally, Shinro exhaled a deep breath and spoke, his voice steady and coldly amused.

“I should’ve seen this coming. I just didn’t think they’d make their move so soon.”

The room quieted. Several executives exchanged uneasy glances.

One of them broke the silence.

“Chairman... you anticipated this?”

Shinro nodded slightly. That one gesture stirred a new wave of respect in the room. His composure hadn’t wavered once—not even now.

‘Chairman Shinro must have a solution. He always does.’

That was the unspoken belief echoing through their minds.

Then, Shinro gave them what they weren’t expecting.

“If Microsoft wants to play gatekeeper,” he said, his voice calm but resolute, “then we build our own gate.”

“We’re developing our own operating system.”

The room froze.

A few jaws dropped.

“D-Develop our own OS?” one executive stammered. “Chairman… are you serious?”

“Building a computer OS isn’t like launching a console,” another muttered, stunned. “It takes years. Infrastructure, developer adoption, compatibility—”

Shinro’s faint smile never left his face.

“Linux has been around for years. Open source. Untapped potential. Perhaps it’s time we gave it the KiShin treatment.”