Everyone knew Ethan Reed had a habit.
Ever since becoming a game producer, he had developed the instinct to complain whenever he saw bad game operations. And among all the companies he liked to complain about, BoarWorks sat proudly at the top of the list.
It was almost a reflex now.
Any time he thought about greedy events, ugly monetization, or staff who treated players like enemies, he would think of BoarWorks first.
That company had produced some memorable games, sure, but it had also built a reputation for making players angry in ways that felt almost artistic. Titles like Warm Ember, Hogwarts, and Realmfall III had all suffered under the same kind of terrible management. And at the center of most of those disasters was a famous internal studio: Thunderforge Studio.
Thunderforge had long since become infamous in the industry.
If Ethan had to describe them honestly, he would say they looked like a studio that had something fundamentally wrong with them. No matter what they touched, they somehow found a way to annoy players. They could take a fun event and turn it into a complaint storm in less than a day. They could make generous players feel insulted and loyal fans feel stupid for caring.
What impressed Ethan most was not their ability to make mistakes.
It was their ability to make mistakes while still acting innocent.
Somehow, whenever players criticized them, Thunderforge always claimed there were organized trolls trying to smear their reputation. Ethan found that almost unbelievable.
How shameless did a company have to be to hold a major event, refuse to give even one free virtual skin, and still expect players to defend them online?
Even worse, there had once been a streamer who genuinely liked their games, only to be officially banned for half a year because he complained about the game's poor vertical sync setting.
That had left Ethan speechless for a long time.
Then furious.
Then amused.
Then furious again.
"Are these people even human?" he had once said in private.
And what made it even funnier was that they were both called "Thunder" something. Yet on the other side, Stormblade Works knew exactly how to build community, blend anime and games together, and make players feel respected. One studio treated players like partners. The other treated them like pests.
The difference was embarrassing.
Still, complaining was one thing.
Learning was another.
No matter how much Ethan disliked BoarWorks, there was still one thing he had to admit: they had done something very, very right with Fantasy Odyssey.
That game had lasted for over twenty years.
In gaming, that was not just survival. That was legend.
Why had it endured so long?
The answer was simple.
Its economy was stable.
Its values were balanced.
Its trading system worked.
While many online games collapsed under inflation, broken item values, and useless old accounts, Fantasy Odyssey managed to hold its internal market together over time. Even after years of updates, old accounts still had value. Old investments still meant something.
And the real masterpiece behind that success was the Trade Vault.
If someone had bought an account for fifty thousand yuan five years ago, there was a good chance they could still sell it for close to that amount years later.
Of course, that was still technically a loss. Players poured time, energy, and emotion into their accounts. But compared to most games, where accounts became worthless the moment popularity dropped, this kind of system was almost magical.
Most players were not trying to profit.
They were trying to save time.
They wanted to enjoy the game without spending years building an account from scratch. And when they were done, they wanted the freedom to sell it and recover some of what they had spent.
That was especially attractive to older players—people with jobs, families, and less free time, but who still wanted to reconnect with the excitement of their youth.
And because Ethan understood that, he had already made up his mind.
The trading platform inside Pokémon GO would follow a similar path.
The recent story of the thirteen-year-old boy from Shu Province had made that even clearer.
The boy had caught a rare Snorlax, sold it for forty thousand yuan, and used the money to help his family and support his sister's education.
It was the kind of story that spread fast.
It was emotional.
It was real.
And most importantly, it was powerful advertising.
Yes, it would attract more players.
Yes, it would also make some of those players more profit-driven.
But Ethan still decided to push the story harder.
He arranged for the news to spread across more platforms. He even invited the media to interview the family involved.
And just as he had predicted, the effect was immediate.
Pokémon GO's daily active users surged past forty million.
That number alone was enough to make the rest of the industry nervous.
Quietly, almost invisibly, the game was already beginning to catch up to the giants in the market.
In response, Northstar Games accelerated everything.
Over the past few days, the company had already held three major meetings.
The first two focused entirely on Pokémon GO.
With the game's popularity exploding, Ethan believed it was time to create something bigger than simple local events. He wanted a true regional league. Something organized. Something exciting. Something that would make players feel that the game had entered a new stage.
At the same time, he also decided to launch the Pokémon Egg system earlier than planned.
This feature would give players a new way to obtain strong and rare Pokémon. But after long discussion, Ethan made one decision very clearly:
Pokémon Eggs would not be sold in the store.
They would only come from quests, daily activities, exploration, and special map content.
Daniel Reed had been confused at first.
From a business point of view, selling Eggs would make a lot of money. Rare hatches meant excitement, excitement meant spending, and spending meant profit.
But Daniel trusted Ethan.
He always did.
After all, Ethan had not been wrong yet.
Ethan's reasoning was simple.
If players could buy Eggs directly, and those Eggs had a chance of producing rare or high-level Pokémon, then the whole feature would start to resemble gambling. Worse, it would create a gap between rich players and ordinary players. That kind of gap would split the community and slowly poison the game's balance.
He did not want that.
He wanted players to feel rewarded.
Not manipulated.
So after two meetings, two major decisions were finalized.
First: the Pokémon Egg feature would be launched, daily quests would be expanded, and gyms would become more valuable because they could speed up Egg hatching.
Second: the regional league would officially begin, split into two seasons—selection in the first half of the year, and formal competition in the second half.
Today's meeting, however, was about something larger.
It was no longer just about one game.
It was about the future of the company itself.
Northstar Games had grown too quickly.
It now touched so many genres that even its own leadership sometimes struggled to define what kind of company it had become.
Was it a farming game company?
An action-adventure company?
An RPG studio?
A strategy house?
A roguelike team?
A children's fantasy brand?
The truth was that Northstar had done all of it.
On the seventh floor of the company headquarters, the senior team gathered in the conference room.
Ethan Reed sat at the head of the table. Beside him was Vivian Frost, the official boss and quiet center of the company. Around them sat Daniel Reed, Evan Cross, Ryan Cole, Tyler Drake, Jason Hart, and several other core leaders.
There were no stiff rules in the room.
Everyone was young enough to speak honestly, so the meeting was unusually open.
Ethan stood up first and gave a helpless smile.
"This is what troubles me," he said. "Most game studios have one area they're known for. One specialty. But us? We do everything."
There was quiet laughter around the room.
He was right.
Northstar's list of genres was absurdly wide.
But before Ethan could continue, several people around the table exchanged looks.
When Ethan said "Northstar has limitless potential," nobody in that room really believed it was just the company.
What they really believed was that Ethan Reed had limitless potential.
At this point, nearly every major success the company had touched had passed through his hands in some way. In industry circles, private rankings had already started placing him at the top of domestic game development.
He was one more step away from becoming something bigger than famous.
He was getting close to becoming a legend.
Ethan tapped the table lightly and moved on.
"The new office space is ready. Headquarters will move there soon. At the same time, we're opening branch offices in Magic City and Peng City."
That immediately changed the mood in the room.
This was no small adjustment.
This was expansion.
Real expansion.
Ethan looked at Ryan Cole and Tyler Drake.
"Are either of you interested in taking charge of a branch office?"
Ryan blinked and pointed at himself. "Me?"
"Yes, you," Ethan said with a grin. "Your projects are stable now. You can take your team with you and build around that."
Evan Cross, sitting to one side, immediately asked, "What about Daniel?"
Ethan answered without hesitation.
"Daniel stays."
Everyone understood why.
Some people were valuable.
Daniel was essential.
He already led a team of over one hundred fifty people. At this point, he was no longer just managing a studio group—he was shaping one of the company's main creative engines. And Ethan had clearly not finished with him yet.
Daniel, for his part, said nothing. He only smiled faintly.
Inside, though, he was already excited.
Because he knew what this meant.
Once Pokémon GO moved into stable operation, Ethan would definitely give him something new.
And whatever came next would not be a small side project.
It would be another major battlefield.
Ethan then casually dropped another bomb into the meeting.
"Next month, we'll officially acquire a domestic hardware software company. After that, we'll launch a co-branded Pokémon handheld device, and later we'll also begin producing controllers for our games."
That got a real reaction.
Even Evan sat up straight.
"You never told us about this."
Ethan smiled. "I'm telling you now."
It was not unusual for a game company to produce peripherals.
But for a domestic company to seriously step into hardware in this way? That was bold. Maybe too bold.
The local console market was still small. Most players preferred PC gaming. Controllers and handhelds were still seen as niche devices for enthusiasts.
But Ethan had already made up his mind.
Northstar had enough games to justify it.
Animal Party, Street Fighter, and other titles all had room to grow on hardware.
And then there was the real reason.
The new game.
Ethan had already chosen it.
He had not chosen it because of market data.
He had not chosen it because investors demanded it.
He had chosen it because he suddenly wanted to make it.
And maybe—just maybe—because he wanted Vivian to stop running outside all the time for Pokémon GO and spend a little more time in the office and at home.
After thinking long and hard, he had picked the perfect title for her.
A game so good it could keep her completely hooked indoors.
That game would need special support.
That meant Northstar needed proper entry into the console space, and it needed its own controller design to support the experience correctly across both console and PC.
Would it cost a lot?
Yes.
Would it burn money?
Absolutely.
Did Ethan care?
Not even a little.
Northstar Games was no longer afraid of burning money.
By the end of the meeting, Ethan's tone changed again. He gave orders one after another.
Daniel's team would gradually step back from daily Pokémon GO operations and hand the live service work to another group.
Evan would personally handle the overseas collaboration for Overwatch.
Ryan would take responsibility for the Street Fighter carnival and Stardew Valley winter event.
The Night of the Full Moon Halloween event would be accelerated, and the new DLC would be released for free.
The message was clear.
The end of the year did not mean the company could relax.
It meant the company had to move faster.
Then Ethan turned to Vivian Frost with a smirk.
"Boss, do you want to say a few words too?"
All eyes turned toward her.
Vivian raised her hand slightly, looking as calm and harmless as ever.
Then she said, "Everyone, keep up the good work. If results are good, I'll give out red envelopes at the end of the year."
She paused.
Then added softly, "Maybe even double the year-end bonus."
The room exploded.
"Long live the boss!"
"Boss Vivian is the best!"
"I can leave for Magic City today!"
"Don't worry, boss, I'll make the DLC beautiful enough for you to enjoy properly!"
In one sentence, she destroyed the serious mood Ethan had spent the whole meeting building.
The meeting ended in laughter and noise.
Later, back in the small office, Ethan sat down with a cup of red tea while Vivian leaned beside him.
"Pay extra attention to the hardware side," he said. "Give them more funding if needed. Since there are no real console makers here, they're practically starting from scratch."
Vivian nodded, then asked, "Why do we really have to make the controller ourselves?"
"Because the new game needs it."
"We could work with an overseas company."
"We could," Ethan said. "But if we can do it ourselves, why should we ask someone else?"
Vivian thought about that, then gave in with a small shrug.
As always, she trusted him.
And Ethan sat there smiling into his tea.
A new game.
A new direction.
A new goal.
It would not be finished this year.
But that did not matter.
Because in his heart, he was already certain of two things.
This year's Game of the Year would belong to 2077.
And as for next year?
Ethan's smile widened.
That crown was already spoken for.
Because the game he had in mind—
was a god-tier masterpiece.
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