Something this outrageous was beyond what most people would even dare to imagine.
How could Takayuki alone handle so many problems?
The reason was simple—he had a fundamental understanding of every one of those games.
If other developers saw those games, they would probably be driven away immediately.
Players who lacked the ability to judge quality might be fooled, only to regret it later when the two-hour refund window passed and refunds were no longer possible.
But game developers understood quality best. For trash like this, they wouldn't even bother to take a second look.
Yet Takayuki had actually sat down and patiently played through them.
For games like these to be personally ordered off the platform by Takayuki—it really wasn't unjust at all.
And then there was the developer behind one of them.
Hanladi.
Everyone present had now firmly remembered that name.
They silently decided to be wary of him in the future—blacklist him outright. If he ever tried to join their teams, he would be rejected without hesitation.
"This Takayuki… he's ruthless."
The entire exchange meeting was being livestreamed.
Which meant everything Takayuki was doing was being broadcast live to the entire internet.
As an industry competitor, Uehito Hayakawa made time to watch the stream despite his busy schedule.
He wasn't expecting to learn anything about game development—he didn't need that. He was a boss, after all.
What he wanted to see was how Takayuki would respond to the backlash from forcefully removing so many games.
He wanted to see how Takayuki would face those who had tried to attack him.
And then he saw that.
Takayuki was ruthless.
He had actually played every game he removed, then meticulously annotated their strengths, weaknesses, and provided suggestions. The level of effort was downright absurd.
Someone of Takayuki's stature was already on the same level as him.
People like them were supposed to be doing more "high-level" things—certainly not wasting time on a single mediocre game.
But Takayuki wasn't like that.
His seriousness toward this kind of matter far exceeded anyone's expectations.
Uehito Hayakawa suddenly realized that perhaps it was precisely this attitude that allowed Takayuki to dominate the video game industry for so long.
Of course, the tradeoff was that Gamestar Electronic Entertainment found it difficult to expand beyond gaming, participating in other industries mostly through investments.
Companies like Suri Electronics and Mickfow, on the other hand, could expand into other industries as they grew.
Each path had its own advantages. Everyone was making their mark in different ways.
Still, Hayakawa had one lingering question—
Had Takayuki played every game he ordered removed?
If that were the case, Hayakawa was willing to offer him the highest level of respect.
A rival that ruthless toward himself was worthy of respect—and fear.
His question didn't linger long.
In the following moments of the livestream, Takayuki began calling out each removed game one by one.
"Cyber Supreme—an interesting name, but the game itself falls far short. It's obvious that neither the title nor the game design was thought through seriously. But that's not even the main issue. The problem is that this is a puzzle game, and both the puzzle images and background music are cobbled together from random sources. Take the third puzzle of level seven, for example—it's just a simple portrait with zero cyberpunk elements. There isn't the slightest trace of cyberpunk in it. All I can say is that this game was made with zero care."
The developer of Cyber Supreme bowed his head in shame, not daring to look up. He even wanted to leave immediately.
But he couldn't.
If he left, he'd become the laughingstock of everyone present, mocked even more mercilessly.
"Cyber Paradise Journey. This is a driving game. Just like the previous one, it has no cyberpunk elements whatsoever. You're simply driving an old car down an endless road. This is actually the game I played the longest—I spent seventeen hours on it, almost without stopping, and still never reached the end. I strongly suspect the game doesn't even have an ending. Frankly speaking, this is a half-finished product."
The game truly had no ending.
The developer had made it while drunk—started coding, fell asleep mid-way, and upon waking, uploaded it straight away. He'd never even thought about adding an endpoint.
He'd assumed no one would be bored enough to drive for that long. To him, it was just a joke project, sold cheaply. A bit of a prank on players, without much regard for their experience.
Now, his mind was completely blank.
Someone like Takayuki had actually played his game for a full seventeen hours just to see the ending.
That was insane.
He'd never seen anything like it.
Others were equally stunned. Takayuki's Battle.net account clearly showed seventeen hours logged on that game.
If it were them, they'd have quit after ten or fifteen minutes.
With that, what excuse did you have left?
If you were so capable, why didn't you play it for seventeen hours?
And more importantly, this wasn't about playtime—it was about attitude.
Takayuki's attitude toward every single game was enough to earn the admiration of everyone present.
Watching the livestream, Hayakawa muttered to himself, "Seventeen hours… that's enough time for me to play several rounds of golf, or negotiate one or two investments with business partners. This Takayuki…"
Takayuki continued, one by one, to go through every game he had removed.
For each one, he could clearly explain what was wrong.
Some games only took one or two hours—or even just minutes—to finish, so there wasn't much to say. Takayuki could clear them quickly.
But for longer games, or those with no defined endpoint, he had spent at least three to five hours playing them.
Most of the hype-chasing reskin games were short anyway, which was why Takayuki could finish over a hundred games in about a week. Otherwise, it would've taken twice as long.
In some cases—like Hanladi's game—Takayuki understood the game better than its own developer.
Whenever that happened, the crowd would erupt in boos, mocking those who made games without any care.
People like that were essentially finished in the game development world. No company would be foolish enough to hire them.
And now, they had no grounds left to attack Takayuki.
Everything he said was reasonable.
So tell me—
What right did they have to accuse him?