Video Game Tycoon in Tokyo-Chapter 993: With Just One Sentence

Finding evidence on the internet isn't all that difficult.

Gamestar Electronic Entertainment is full of top-tier talent. They weren't looking for classified information—just a few digital breadcrumbs.

It didn't take long before the Stanford Legion, in cooperation with the AI Lab, thoroughly investigated the shady operations behind the company that developed the game encryption software.

And the first step they took next was clear: direct legal action.

Gamestar's legal department hadn't had a serious case in years.

In the past decade or so, the company had rarely dealt with legal disputes.

The legal team had been so idle, they were starting to worry about getting laid off.

But now that they had a clear target, the whole department was fired up—everyone scrambling to take the lead on the case.

Takayuki had never hesitated to invest in legal defenses.

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This wasn't for going after fan-made content or small modders—but more to guard against potential political controversies, or even sanctions from certain governments.

After all, the U.S. had already seen more than a few cases like that.

And the legal team didn't let Takayuki down. Soon, Gamestar's European division officially filed a lawsuit against the encryption company.

At the same time, for the first time in years, Takayuki took to social media to publicly call them out.

Encryption software for video games can be a tool that benefits developers.

But Takayuki didn't believe it should come at the expense of player experience.

If developers wanted to use this kind of software, then it had to first and foremost guarantee that it would not negatively impact the player's gameplay.

Takayuki also made a public declaration: Gamestar Electronic Entertainment would never cooperate with a company like this.

And if any other studio chose to use their encryption software, Gamestar wouldn't stop them—but those games would be banned from releasing on the BattleNet platform.

That move effectively cut off the encryption company's most important distribution channel.

The company was immediately hit with immense pressure, and the founder quickly came out to issue a statement: they never intended to hurt gameplay. They only wanted to create value and help protect game developers' rights.

But the players weren't having it.

Before this, most of them didn't have strong opinions about encryption software.

But over the past few months, more and more games had begun implementing this kind of DRM, and it frustrated both pirate and legit players alike.

For pirates, it blocked them from free access.

But for legitimate players, it created real problems too.

If the encryption software wasn't fully compatible with the base game, it could cause serious crashes or even data loss—bugs that ruined the experience.

Player complaints had been piling up.

On BattleNet, some games that previously held 60–70% positive ratings saw those numbers drop by 10–20% purely because of the encryption.

Even if those drops didn't immediately hurt a developer's revenue, they did erode long-term player trust.

And until recently, players had mostly been directing their complaints toward the game developers—unaware that the root of the issue lay in the third-party encryption software.

To players who genuinely love games and insist on buying them legally, this kind of DRM felt like a betrayal.

They paid for a game, but got a worse experience in return.

So when Takayuki called out the issue publicly on social media, player anger exploded.

Soon, the encryption company's Facebook page was flooded with furious comments:

"So YOU'RE the reason my game runs like trash? What did we ever do to deserve this? We just want to enjoy good games, and you've ruined them!"

"Go out of business already!"

"I won't touch any game using your software—not even pirated versions!"

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Eventually, the company had no choice but to disable comments on its Facebook page entirely.

But it didn't end there—Facebook has hidden features. frёeωebɳovel.com

Users could still post scathing criticism by sharing content, tagging others, or attaching screenshots—ensuring the company's name stayed in the firing line.

Finally, the encryption company deleted its Facebook account altogether and vanished from the platform.

Player backlash might've been just verbal...

But had they kept quiet, the company might have kept making money.

After all, a lot of studios were still interested in DRM tools like these.

They needed profits, and DRM made piracy harder, which could boost earnings—so the logic was sound.

But when Takayuki said that any game using this software would be blacklisted from the BattleNet platform, that was a death sentence.

Even though there were now many digital storefronts for PC games, BattleNet was still the only one that truly generated real revenue.

Other platforms couldn't compete with its reach or sales numbers.

So if a game couldn't launch on BattleNet, it essentially lost its largest marketing and sales channel.

No game company could accept that outcome.

So the studios that were previously in talks with the DRM company quickly distanced themselves—loudly.

Some posted on social media, publicly promising they would never use that encryption software.

Others went even further, swearing off DRM entirely, vowing to protect the player experience even if it meant greater piracy risk.

After all, it's better to make a little less than nothing at all.

And through it all, Takayuki had done nothing more than post a short message on social media.

Just a single public statement condemning the company and refusing to cooperate.

That one post was all it took...

To bury the company's entire future in the gaming industry.

Just one post.