Video Game Tycoon in Tokyo-Chapter 1004: Old Friends Reminisce

"Takayuki, you're really sitting on a mountain of gold, yet you refuse to show it off," said Tokarev regretfully as he poured tea for Takayuki in a luxurious private villa in Hollywood, USA.

"Here, this is the best tea I could buy. I hear you Japanese folks love this stuff—though I've never understood what's so great about it."

Takayuki lounged casually on the sofa, took the cup without ceremony, checked the temperature, and downed it in one go. To him, tea was just a drink—nothing fancy. It just needed to quench thirst.

A day earlier, Takayuki had flown to the U.S. on a private jet from Japan.

The main purpose of his trip was to personally inspect the site of Gamestar's new American branch—see the location firsthand.

After all, it had cost over $300 million just to acquire the land, and even more to construct a headquarters building similar in scale to the one in Japan.

At this point, the U.S. had effectively become Gamestar Electronic Entertainment's second home base.

While GTA: Liberty City Chapters portrayed the American Dream as dark and bleak, there were still positive sides to it—one of which was that the U.S. genuinely attracted a lot of talent.

As an old empire, the U.S. still had its foundation. If it were as dark as in GTA, then it wouldn't be the real American Dream.

After adjusting to the time difference and touring the second HQ and several game development teams, Takayuki took the time to visit some old friends.

Tokarev was both a business partner and a close friend.

Sometimes, the best friends are those whose industries complement yours—not direct competitors.

Friends in the same industry often end up in conflict eventually.

Gamestar and Surei Electronics were still partners, but Takayuki would never call Hayakawa Ueru a "friend"—at most, they had mutual respect.

Tokarev, however, was different.

He had always focused solely on the film industry and never tried to dabble in other fields. Film and games complemented each other, which helped their good relationship last over time.

Just now, Tokarev expressed regret.

Gamestar had always been cautious when it came to adapting its IPs into movies or TV shows. They rarely allowed adaptations of their game properties.

But given the current influence of Gamestar, they could easily produce a film based on one of their IPs—fans would flock to it even if it wasn't great.

It would be easy money. Even if the reviews tanked, it wouldn't hurt Gamestar's standing among players.

At most, fans would joke, "Gamestar makes great games—just don't let them make movies."

Yet even then, as long as they kept licensing out IPs, fans would still pay.

This wasn't just Tokarev speculating—he had real data to back it up.

Surei Electronics had done quite well in this area.

They owned four or five well-known game IPs and happened to have their own film studio, Detroit Pictures.

They simply handed their IPs to the in-house film division—and made a killing. freewebnσvel.cѳm

If Surei could profit from adapting its games into films, Gamestar's IPs would undoubtedly be even more profitable.

Takayuki smiled. "Haven't I already agreed to license you some IPs for spin-off projects? What, still not satisfied?"

Tokarev, with his Santa Claus-like appearance and long beard covering his chin, chuckled warmly but sighed.

"Come on. Look at the IPs you gave me: Wario Maker animated series, Need for Speed spin-off, Contra animated show... Most of what you authorized are only suitable for animation. Can't you give me one top-tier IP? Don't you trust our studio?"

Takayuki shook his head. "It's not that I don't trust your studio."

"Then—"

"I don't trust any film studio."

"..."

That was an audacious claim—Hollywood had world-class directors, writers, and actors. Was adapting a game IP really that hard?

Takayuki knew better than anyone that adapting games into films was a trap. In both this world and his past life, the results had never been promising. He had low expectations and still wanted to protect his company's legacy.

If a game IP adaptation flopped too badly, he wouldn't be able to face himself.

Takayuki continued, "Didn't I already authorize a Resident Evil spin-off movie? That turned out pretty well, didn't it? So why say I only gave you minor IPs?"

Tokarev grumbled, "You said it yourself—Resident Evil turned out pretty well. Doesn't that prove adaptations can succeed? How about this—we sign a contract. If the next adaptation I produce flops, you can unilaterally cancel the licensing agreement, and I'll publicly apologize. Deal?"

Tokarev was clearly lowering himself on purpose—because Resident Evil had been a massive hit.

Not long ago, under Takayuki's guidance on plot and presentation, the Resident Evil film had released as planned.

But this wasn't the Resident Evil film from the original world—it was a different zombie film altogether.

Its title: World War Z.

It became a benchmark for zombie films—elevating the genre from low-budget horror to blockbuster spectacle.

And that blockbuster status brought a huge payday.

Audiences had never seen anything like the terrifying swarm of zombies overwhelming human defenses.

Thousands climbing over walls in waves—it was visually jaw-dropping.

Especially for this world's moviegoers, who had never seen anything like it. The film instantly became the top-grossing film of the year—for half the year—until it was eventually overtaken by a higher-budget film from another famous director.

But in terms of profit margin, World War Z was king.

With a $200 million budget, boosted by the Resident Evil IP and first-time zombie action spectacle, the global box office hit $1.2 billion—a 600% return.

Clearly, Tokarev had tasted success.

He believed most of the credit belonged to the Resident Evil brand—more than to the film's own quality.

That's why he was now eager to get his hands on more of Gamestar's IPs for adaptation.