Chapter 28: I Wanted to Scold Them Loudly, but the Money Smells Too Good!

You Were Told to Lose Money By Making Games, and You Actually Did It? 

Chapter 28: I Wanted to Scold Them Loudly, but the Money Smells Too Good!

At Hyakukin Studio.

“President Kamiyama, I've made my decision. I'd like to resign.”

Inside the office, Yamagami Eiji respectfully handed over his resignation letter to Kamiyama Atsushi and bowed.

Sitting behind his desk, Kamiyama froze for a moment.

Another employee quitting?

“Is there a particular reason?” Kamiyama asked.

Generally speaking, employees in Japan rarely resign.

This was largely due to the country's corporate culture, social values, and the unwritten social contract that shaped workplace expectations.

Many companies even limited employment history forms to a maximum of three previous employers.

Employees who changed jobs frequently often found it difficult to get hired.

Prior to this, two probationary employees at the studio had already submitted their resignations.

Kamiyama hadn't paid much attention at the time.

But now a full-time employee was resigning.

That was enough to make him think more seriously about the situation.

“No, it's just that I want to leave Japan and see more of the world,” Yamagami replied, shaking his head.

“You're leaving Japan?” Kamiyama looked surprised.

“Yes.” Yamagami nodded with a serious expression.

This wasn't an impulsive decision made in the heat of the moment.

He had thought about it carefully.

During the recent development work with Xiu Fu and the others, he wasn't oblivious to the fact that they seemed interested in recruiting him.

At first, he had simply envied their company's benefits.

That didn't mean he immediately wanted to join them.

Leaving his homeland was one concern.

Another was that, like most Japanese workers, he wanted to stay with one company for the long term and build a stable career.

Hyakukin Studio wasn't a bad company.

But Yamagami knew it wasn't where he wanted to spend the rest of his career.

Project after project had failed.

The company survived mainly through outsourced work for other developers.

There were few opportunities for advancement.

And like many Japanese firms, although labor laws mandated overtime pay, employees often chose not to report overtime in order to improve their evaluations and promotion prospects.

Unpaid overtime had effectively become the norm.

Perhaps Hyakukin Studio would continue operating for years to come.

But Yamagami couldn't see a future for himself there.

Morning Star Games, however, was completely different.

They had stronger financial backing than Hyakukin Studio.

Their staff was younger and more energetic.

The benefits were significantly better.

Most importantly, their technical foundation—particularly in action-game development—was still in its early stages.

For Yamagami, that alone made it worth taking a gamble.

“Which major company are you planning to join?” Kamiyama asked, feeling somewhat depressed.

Still, he knew this sort of thing was inevitable.

When he himself had left a major corporation to start his own studio, it was because he had already achieved success and wanted to build something of his own.

But from an employee's perspective, large companies offered more opportunities and better compensation.

Naturally, people dreamed of joining them.

Kamiyama didn't like it, but he understood.

Besides, there wasn't much he could do.

He couldn't exactly chain an employee to a desk and refuse to let them leave.

Once someone had made up their mind, how long could you really keep them?

At most, you could ask them to stay another month for a proper handover.

And even then, you'd still have to pay their salary.

Whether they'd put their heart into that final month of work was another matter entirely.

“I plan to join Morning Star,” Yamagami said firmly.

Since making his decision, he had no intention of regretting it.

“W-What? Did you just say Morning Star!?”

Kamiyama's eyes widened.

He looked as though he'd seen a ghost.

Had he heard that correctly?

Was this the same Morning Star he knew?

If an employee wanted to join a major company to pursue better technology, greater opportunities, and higher pay—he wouldn't stop them.

But Morning Star?

A company that had hired them as contractors?

You're leaving us to join them?

Kamiyama was initially stunned.

Then realization suddenly hit him.

Wait a second!

If their technical capabilities were lacking… Wouldn't that make someone like Yamagami exactly the kind of employee they needed?

But they only outsourced work to them for two months!

How did that turn into wanting to go work for them?

Were they all hypnotized or something?

Kamiyama simply couldn't understand it.

But there was no way for him to stop them.

Even though Yamagami was a full-time employee, he hadn't signed any non-compete agreement.

So what if he switched jobs?

There was nothing Kamiyama could do about it.

And even if such an agreement existed, it wouldn't help much.

Preventing someone from taking another job would require compensation payments.

As far as Hyakukin Studio was concerned, every yen spent felt like a piece of flesh being carved away.

“Forget it. I wish you all the best at Morning Star. Hyakukin will always be your home.”

“Thank you, President.”

After a moment's thought, Kamiyama sighed and accepted the resignation letter.

Looking on the bright side...

One less employee meant one less salary to pay next month.

If they completed a couple more outsourcing projects, Hyakukin Studio might recover enough to start developing its own games again.

As for employees?

They could always recruit and train new ones.

It wasn't that veterans were unaffordable—it's just that rookies offered better value for money.

Watching Yamagami leave the office, Kamiyama comforted himself with that thought.

But the moment Yamagami pushed open the office door, Kamiyama saw another person walking in with an envelope in hand.

And perhaps it was just his imagination...

But why did it look like there were more than ten people lining up outside his office?

“...Aonuma... You're not here to resign too, are you?”

Looking at the young man standing before him and the envelope in his hand, Kamiyama suddenly felt a terrible premonition.

“Yes, President.” Aonuma Shinji nodded with complete seriousness.

He presented the letter with both hands and bowed deeply.

. . .

Meanwhile, over at Morning Star Games, development of Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice had entered its final polishing stage.

The contracts for AQ testing had already been completed.

Chen Xu had assigned two employees to each testing company.

It wasn't just for supervision.

It was also to spend more money, even if it was only a tiny amount.

He couldn't help it.

He was running out of places to spend funds.

As for localization and voice acting—the Japanese, English, and German versions had all been completed and were currently undergoing second-round reviews.

The voice work was finished as well.

Both the Chinese and Japanese dubs had been recorded.

However, Chen Xu wasn't sure whether it was because of nostalgia from his previous life.

The Chinese dub sounded surprisingly good to him.

The Japanese dub, on the other hand, felt somewhat lacking compared to what he remembered.

Of course, it might simply be because the anime industry in this parallel world wasn't particularly strong, which in turn affected the development of the voice-acting industry.

After all, industries often influenced one another.

Just as Chen Xu was thinking about this, the phone on his desk suddenly rang.

[Kamiyama Atsushi]

Seeing the caller ID, Chen Xu was puzzled.

Hadn't the outsourcing contract already ended?

The final payment had already been transferred through Osaka Bank.

“President Kamiyama, is there something you need?” Chen Xu asked after answering.

“********”

A rapid stream of Japanese burst from the receiver.

Chen Xu couldn't understand a word of it.

But one thing was obvious—

Kamiyama Atsushi was extremely emotional.

“My deepest apologies! I got a little too worked up.”

On the other end of the line, Kamiyama Atsushi wore a thoroughly aggrieved expression.

After all—he was the victim here!

Why was he the one apologizing so sincerely?

But there was no helping it.

His emotions had gotten the better of him, and he'd forgotten that the other party couldn't understand Japanese.

“It's alright. Did something happen, President Kamiyama? You sound extremely agitated.”

Hearing that, Kamiyama could no longer hold it in.

His fists clenched.

He still had the nerve to ask why he was upset?

Did Chen Xu really have no idea why?

Originally, Kamiyama had thought that Hyakukin Studio was shameless enough and had already hit rock bottom.

But who would have guessed that Morning Star Games was just as bad?

“Sixteen of our current employees have resigned. They've all chosen to join Morning Star Games!” Kamiyama blurted out, getting straight to the point.

“Oh, so it's about that. I've heard about it too. Is there anything else, President Kamiyama?”

Chen Xu deliberately acted as though he had just realized the matter.

At the same time, he excitedly slapped his thigh.

Well done, Xiu Fu!

That's my brilliant right-hand man!

He had been worrying about how to spend more money.

Now sixteen overseas employees had arrived all at once.

“...I...”

Kamiyama was momentarily speechless.

He never expected such a response.

It was practically: "Yeah, we poached them. What are you going to do about it?"

Even through the phone, Kamiyama could almost picture Chen Xu's expression.

But what could he do?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

“President Kamiyama, everyone has their own dreams. Besides, we're excellent partners. We'll continue making games in the future, and our cooperation on action-game development has been extremely smooth and productive.” Chen Xu immediately began selling a grand vision.

Though, in fairness, he genuinely meant it.

The collaboration with Hyakukin Studio had been perfect.

The employees they poached increased company expenses.

The outsourcing fees were expensive.

And those contracts gave him legitimate reasons to hire law firms and obtain bank guarantees.

If not for Hyakukin Studio, there would be far more money sitting in his accounts right now.

Kamiyama’s hand trembled as he gripped his phone.

What kind of person is this!?

A smooth partnership?

It was too smooth!

So smooth that they'd stolen half his staff!

And now he was talking about future cooperation?

One more collaboration like this and Hyakukin Studio would cease to exist!

He wanted to stand his ground.

He wanted to give Chen Xu a fierce scolding.

But then, in the very next second, he remembered the final payment that had just arrived in the company's bank account.

The words at the tip of his tongue immediately changed.

“Very well, President Chen. I hope we'll have the opportunity to cooperate again in the future.”

After hanging up, Kamiyama slumped back into his chair.

Then he lightly slapped himself across the mouth.

Where did all that backbone go?

The same stubborn spirit that used to challenge anyone and anything—where had it disappeared to?

He hated it.

Not Morning Star Games.

He hated himself.

But when he looked at the balance sitting in the company account, he could only let out a long sigh.

Since the matter was already settled, he might as well lie back and enjoy it.

After all, the money smelled absolutely wonderful.

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