That night, the news spread like a data-bomb.
What began as a ripple inside the animation community quickly overflowed into the gaming world, igniting discussions across every major forum. Mooncrest Studio's new anime—produced by Northstar Games—became the topic no one could avoid.
And honestly, the shock made sense.
There had never been a real wall between gamers and anime fans. Plenty of people did both. The overlap was massive. But still—no one had ever expected this.
A game company making anime?
That wasn't just rare. It was borderline unthinkable.
"Are they serious?"
"Shouldn't they focus on games instead?"
"Who thought this was a good idea?"
And then there was the name.
Ethan Reed.
On its own, it meant nothing. The country probably had thousands of people with that name. No one would connect the dots based on that alone.
But when the credit line read Northstar Games + Ethan Reed, everything snapped into place.
There was only one Ethan Reed.
And suddenly, disbelief turned into outrage.
---
"If you're not going to make games properly, why the hell are you making anime?!"
"Turn on your mic, coward!"
"You disappeared for over a month, teased a mysterious AAA project, and THIS is what you were doing?"
"Say something, Ethan! Speak!"
"…Am I the only one who's actually excited?"
"Northstar's stories are always good—anime should work too, right?"
"It might work, but I'd rather PLAY your games, you idiot!"
The noise grew louder by the hour.
Memes appeared. Arguments escalated. Expectations clashed violently with frustration.
And yet, the man at the center of the storm wasn't responding to anything.
At that very moment, Ethan Reed was sitting quietly at home, laptop open, locked into a video call.
---
"Rachel Quinn told me something important," Vivian Frost said, her voice slightly muffled behind a face mask. "If we insist on producing all ten episodes before release, six months won't be enough."
Ethan frowned slightly.
Vivian continued, "Her suggestion is to finish four months' worth first and release one episode per week. It gets the show out earlier and builds attention. She's very confident in Edgewalker—said your work exceeded expectations."
One episode per week.
Ethan leaned back.
In his previous life, Edgewalker had dropped all ten episodes at once. That binge-style release had crushed the audience emotionally. People didn't just watch it—they drowned in it.
That impact came from continuity, from not giving viewers time to emotionally recover.
If possible, Ethan wanted the same effect.
A full release wouldn't sustain hype for months—but it would detonate the entire circle at once.
That was what he wanted.
But reality was cruel.
Six months… might still not be enough.
Which meant there was only one option left.
"Ask her about outsourcing," Ethan said after a moment. "If we bring in external teams for support, can we cut the production time in half?"
Vivian blinked.
"…So you want to burn more money?"
She pinched the edge of her mask, sighed lightly, then nodded. "Alright. I'll call her later."
She paused, then tilted her head.
"By the way—why haven't you come to the company for two days? What are you doing locked up at home?"
Ethan hadn't shown up. And strangely, Vivian hadn't felt like going in either.
She used to enjoy wandering the office.
But without Ethan around… it felt off.
"I'm thinking," Ethan replied irritably. "Plot development for the new game. I'll be back in a few days."
"Oh. Then hurry up."
Ethan smirked. "Listen to this black-hearted boss, exploiting employees without mercy."
Vivian rolled her eyes. "I'm going to take a bath."
"A bath?" Ethan replied instinctively. "Save some bathwater for me."
She laughed softly, stood up, and the camera angle shifted.
She wore a loose bathrobe, revealing smooth, pale calves—soft, healthy curves, effortlessly elegant. One hand held the robe closed at her chest as the other reached forward.
"I'll bring it to the company," she said sweetly. "You can drink it there."
Then—click.
The screen went black.
Ethan stared at the laptop for a second, speechless.
"…Why even bother covering up?" he muttered. "It's not like I haven't seen it before."
He closed the laptop, leaned back in his chair, shut his eyes—
And entered the system.
---
God-Tier Producer System
Bound Entity: Northstar Games
Emotion Points: 1,499,309
Game Treasury
Third-Party Treasury
Ethan waited.
Seconds ticked by.
Finally—
Emotion Points: 1,500,003
He opened the Game Treasury.
There it was.
---
Cyberpunk 2077
Required Emotion Value: 1,500,000
Genre: Open-World / Urban / RPG
Suggested Price: 358
Censored Edition: 298
This was the first truly massive project Ethan had ever purchased.
If not for Stardew Valley, gathering this many emotion points would have been hell.
Northstar's staff had been on paid vacation for nearly a month and a half.
Fully paid.
No work.
And strangely enough—some of them felt guilty.
College graduates were simple creatures. Give them money, and they'd say thank you.
So now, everyone was eagerly waiting for work to resume.
All because this one game cost one and a half million emotion points.
The same tier as My World.
Enough to buy nearly ten Stardew-level projects.
But the thing that truly pissed Ethan off?
The price.
358.
And the censored version?
298.
Sixty units of content—gone.
Sixty.
That wasn't bug fixing.
That wasn't polish.
That wasn't DLC.
That was missing flesh.
"How rushed do you have to be," Ethan muttered, "to cut this much?"
He confirmed the purchase.
The world collapsed inward.
---
Information exploded into his mind.
Neon streets.
Chrome-lined alleys.
Synthetic voices.
Rebellion.
Johnny's rage.
Jackie's laughter and loyalty.
Rogue's calm cruelty.
Adam Smasher's inhuman presence.
A flood of memories—until scenes he had never experienced before began to surface.
Ethan's expression changed.
In the past, he always absorbed game data calmly.
This time, his jaw tightened.
His fists clenched.
Ten minutes later, he exhaled slowly, eyes burning with fury.
Then he exploded.
---
"CD PROJEKT RED, YOU BASTARDS!"
"You absolute monsters—are you even human?!"
"This game could've been epoch-making! A monument in gaming history—and you turned it into THIS?!"
"How much did you cut?! HOW MUCH?!"
"Cyberpunk 2077… you ruined it!"
This was the first time Ethan had ever been this angry.
The system didn't give him released versions.
It gave him the team's original, ideal vision.
And compared to that?
The released product was a skeleton.
This wasn't about bugs.
This was unfinished ambition.
A masterpiece pulled out of the oven half-raw and thrown onto the table.
And as someone who had come to love game development—
How could Ethan not be furious?
In the end, it came down to one sentence.
"CD Projekt Red… you motherf*s."
--------------------------------
Extra chapters available on patreon 🔥🔥🔥
patreon.com/Samurai492
__________________________________