Even though Cyberpunk 2077 had stumbled badly at launch, time had softened the verdict.
After waves of patches and fixes, many players still held it close to their hearts. Its worldview, visuals, and atmosphere remained unforgettable—a white moonlight that lingered no matter how rough reality became.
But that was before the truth surfaced.
Before people understood how much had been cut.
Now that Ethan Reed had seen the original vision, only one emotion remained.
Rage.
The data Ethan received wasn't the released game.
It was the development team's perfect blueprint—the version that should have existed.
And compared to that?
What players received was heartbreak.
There had been entire systems that never made it in.
A full prison arc in Santo Domingo, with branching outcomes and internal power struggles.
A gang-driven sandbox outside the Badlands, where factions could rise or fall based on player choices.
And most unforgivable of all—multiple main-story routes that were completely abandoned.
The Corpo path wasn't supposed to be a shallow introduction followed by instant collapse. It was meant to include internal corporate warfare, shifting loyalties, and slow corruption from the inside—not just a few lines of dialogue and humiliating a junior employee.
The Street Kid wasn't meant to be a nobody.
They were supposed to have a name in the streets.
Gangs would remember them. NPCs would react differently. Players could even incite others to fight on their behalf, leveraging reputation like a weapon.
And the Nomad path?
It was meant to stay alive.
The Badlands weren't just a tutorial zone. Family ties, tribal conflicts, long-term arcs—all of it vanished the moment the player reached Night City.
Instead of three distinct lives…
Everything was crushed into one rail.
Different backgrounds, same road.
Different beginnings, identical endings.
And then there was Arasaka.
In the released version, the final assault was abrupt. A cutscene. A fade to black. One moment outside, the next moment inside the tower.
Efficient. Empty.
But in the original plan?
V was supposed to drive.
Johnny Silverhand would sit in the passenger seat, cigarette glowing faintly in the dark.
No background music.
No crowds.
No spectacle.
Just two broken people, having seen everything, driving calmly toward their end.
The dialogue was sharp. Personal. Human.
That drive wasn't filler—it was closure.
And the endings?
Both Star and Sun were meant to carry hope.
A medical report existed in the original plan.
Neural reconstruction was possible.
The cost? Hundreds of thousands of euros per month.
But for someone who had become King of Night City…
Was money really a problem?
Then Ethan calmed down.
And he understood.
They cut it because it was too hard.
The scope was insane. The systems were massive. Balancing them would have been a nightmare. With internal disagreement and external pressure crushing down, CD Projekt Red chose survival over perfection.
And Northstar Games?
They had even less.
Less money.
Less manpower.
Less experience.
Ethan's vision alone wasn't enough.
Cyberpunk 2077 was never a short-term project.
It couldn't be rushed.
It couldn't be simplified.
But the moment Ethan accepted the blueprint, the goal became unavoidable.
If he didn't create the real Cyberpunk 2077—
He would regret it for the rest of his life.
As for Johnny Silverhand…
This world didn't have Keanu Reeves—but his face still worked.
Cool with sunglasses.
Slightly awkward without them.
The contrast mattered.
Voice acting, however, wasn't even worth thinking about yet.
Right now, only one thing mattered:
How to build Night City properly.
The main story wasn't the problem.
The sandbox was.
CD Projekt Red had cut most of it.
Ethan needed to put it back—piece by piece.
But the technical demands were terrifying.
High-fidelity assets.
Complex AI.
Massive world simulation.
Could Northstar really handle it?
Ethan honestly didn't know.
It was too hard.
CD Projekt Red announced the game in 2012 and released it in 2020—eight years.
And even then, it wasn't finished.
Of course, actual development only began after The Witcher 3, around 2016.
So two years of real work.
But even then—
Could Northstar match that?
Would a two-year Cyberpunk built by Northstar be better than the original?
Two years already felt long compared to their usual pace.
Ethan leaned back, exhausted.
Damn it.
I was dreaming… and forgot how brutal reality is.
---
The Next Day – Northstar Games
Ethan finally returned to the company.
Almost immediately, Daniel cornered him.
"When do we start the new game?"
Ethan pursed his lips.
"Wait a little longer."
Inside Vivian Frost's office, Ethan dropped into the boss's chair, shut his eyes, and rubbed his temples hard.
He hadn't slept.
Not really.
Small games were easy.
Simple mechanics.
Low technical ceilings.
But Cyberpunk 2077 required industry veterans.
Northstar's staff were talented graduates—but there was still a gap. A huge one.
If they forced development now, the result might be even buggier than the original.
Then why make it?
To destroy Northstar's reputation?
To become a laughingstock?
And perfection demanded time and money—both terrifying variables.
If something went wrong halfway…
Could the company survive?
His head throbbed.
Then—
A soft laugh.
"Oh? You came to work today~"
Ethan opened his eyes.
Vivian Frost leaned over the desk, chin resting in her hands, smiling brightly.
"Boss… good morning," Ethan muttered, eyes bloodshot.
She froze.
"You didn't sleep?"
"I didn't sleep at all."
Her smile faded. "What's wrong?"
"The new game… is too hard," Ethan admitted. "I don't know if we should start now."
Vivian was stunned.
This was the first time she had heard hesitation from him.
"Content issues?"
"No. Production. The content is fine. But with our current capabilities… R&D alone could exceed one billion."
She blinked.
One billion?
…That's it?
She had almost two hundred million liquid already.
Character licensing from Neon Blade: Echoes of Lumen.
Console and mobile profits from Stardew Valley and Animal Party.
And Edgewalker hadn't even been paid for yet.
She exhaled in relief.
"You scared me. I thought the content was bad."
"???" Ethan stared at her.
"So… the game is great," she continued, "we're just not ready yet. That's not your fault—it's us holding you back."
"We're one," Ethan said quietly.
Vivian smiled.
"Then learn. Everyone here is talented. Didn't Ryan Young and Alex Shaw start out just like everyone else?"
Ethan fell silent.
She blushed slightly. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Boss… this is dangerous. If it fails, everything could be lost."
Vivian laughed softly.
"Afraid? Why would I be? You turned Northstar from nothing into this. I was broke when we started. Now my account has more zeros than my parents combined."
She stepped closer.
"We're both twenty-five. One year. This much success. Even if it fails—so what?"
She met his eyes.
"As long as you're here, I'll never be poor. I believe in you. I've always believed in you."
Ethan reached out.
Vivian froze, heart pounding—
His hand landed gently on her head.
"…That's it?" she muttered.
"If the boss goes bankrupt," Ethan smiled, "I'm not responsible for you."
"With Animal Party and Stardew Valley, I won't."
"They're limited."
"Then I'll sell the IP harder."
"It's not that exaggerated."
"Then…"
She hesitated.
"…You."
Ethan blinked.
"I won't disappoint you."
The air turned quiet.
Warm.
Too warm.
Suddenly—
"I—I'll buy breakfast!" Vivian blurted out and fled the office.
Ethan stared blankly.
Later, he searched online:
How to turn your boss into your girlfriend
Results:
[Are you insane?]
[Get treatment.]
He ignored those.
[Care for her more. Express your liking subtly.]
Hmm.
Does liking her legs count?
…Probably.
Ethan sighed.
Since when did I start thinking like this?
Subordinates shouldn't kiss their bosses.
--------------------------------
Extra chapters available on patreon 🔥🔥🔥
patreon.com/Samurai492
__________________________________