During the first half of the year, the domestic gaming market was noisier than ever.
Everywhere Ethan Reed looked, there was another cheap imitation crawling out of some studio that hoped to get rich by copying Northstar Games. One online game tried to mimic the emotional style and fantasy atmosphere of Neon Blade: Echoes of Lumen. Several mobile games shamelessly copied the chaotic party mechanics of Animal Party. Even worse, a flood of low-budget farming games began appearing one after another, each one trying to ride the lingering popularity of Stardew Valley.
The problem was simple.
None of them were good.
Some were clumsy. Some were ugly. Some barely functioned. Others were so brazen in their imitation that players could identify exactly which Northstar title they were trying to steal within ten seconds of looking at a screenshot. The best-selling among them only managed around sixty thousand monthly sales, and even that one was stuck with a miserable sixty-one percent positive rating.
Players were ruthless.
"With a masterpiece like Stardew Valley already out, why would we play this fake trash?"
"This isn't inspiration. This is plagiarism with extra steps."
"This feels like someone watched a trailer once and then made a game from memory."
But complaints changed nothing.
Small studios kept copying Northstar because, for many of them, even sixty thousand monthly sales was already a miracle. A low-cost farming game that could sell tens of thousands of copies meant real money, rent paid, staff retained, investors pleased, and perhaps enough profit to survive another year. Some shameless developers even leaned into the outrage on purpose. Being hated was still better than being ignored. A black reputation was still a reputation, and compared to disappearing quietly into obscurity, getting cursed by Northstar's fans was a perfectly acceptable marketing strategy.
After all, money was money.
And if luck smiled on them—if the imitation landed just right and caught a wave of traffic—then one small hit might be enough to let them live comfortably for years.
So while Northstar Games remained silent, the market became a circus of counterfeit shadows. Some copycat companies even went so far as to borrow Northstar's branding style, choosing suspiciously similar names, fonts, posters, and promotional language to create the illusion that their games had some connection to Northstar itself. Players were disgusted, but also helpless.
It felt like the old saying had come true.
When the tiger leaves the mountain, the monkeys start a party.
And that only made everyone more frustrated.
What exactly was Northstar doing?
Why had they gone quiet for so long?
The most maddening part was that their usual weakness no longer existed. Before, players joked that if Ethan Reed refused to answer online, they could always corner him offline. But now even that had become difficult, because the Science and Technology Building had security.
Officially, the security was there for safety and order.
Unofficially, everyone in Lumen City knew exactly what it meant. The city government valued Northstar highly now. Their partnership with the company had grown increasingly close, and Northstar's rapid expansion had brought prestige, jobs, taxes, tourism, and a growing sense that Lumen City was becoming more important because of them.
Vivian Frost had already become one of the most talked-about young entrepreneurs in the city. True, she was not originally from Lumen City, but that no longer mattered. In the eyes of the city, Northstar belonged to Lumen City, and therefore Vivian did too.
As far as the officials were concerned, she was one of theirs now.
And they intended to protect their golden goose.
---
"So you've been silent for all this time just to focus on making Cyberpunk 2077?"
In Northstar's office, Ethan handed a cup of tea to Director Cole, who was seated across from him, and then passed another to Lucas Frost, who had come with him. The two senior executives from Skybound had flown into Lumen City that morning, and they had come straight to Northstar as soon as they landed.
Director Cole accepted the teacup, stared at Ethan's bright, energetic face, and let out a helpless laugh. "You disappeared for half a year. I honestly thought something had gone wrong inside your company."
Ethan shook his head immediately. "Impossible. Vivian Frost is the largest shareholder, I'm second, and together we have complete control over Northstar. If the two of us are still standing, what problem could this company possibly have?"
"That's exactly why your silence is so strange," Director Cole said. "Game companies talk while developing games. They tease. They hint. They release concept art, trailers, diaries—something. But you? You vanished completely. There are even people online claiming Northstar is going bankrupt."
At that, Ethan almost laughed. "Bankrupt? Northstar makes more money every month than the month before."
Director Cole had no choice but to nod.
That part was true.
Northstar no longer depended solely on selling its older games, but those older titles still earned an absurd amount of money every single month. Stardew Valley kept printing revenue like it had no idea how to stop. Its sales were approaching an almost absurd level, and nobody could even confidently guess where the ceiling was anymore. Pokémon was even more ridiculous. Combined global sales for the first two generations had passed beyond the stage where ordinary people could imagine the number without going numb.
And then there was the merchandise.
By the time Director Cole and Lucas Frost arrived at the airport in Lumen City, they had already seen plush toys, figures, snack promotions, drinks, bags, and brand tie-ins featuring Pokémon characters. Northstar wasn't just making games anymore. It was making ecosystems.
The company was rich—dangerously rich.
Which meant something very important.
Northstar had the luxury to stay silent because it was under no financial pressure at all.
Director Cole took a sip of tea, then set the cup down carefully. "Since you and Vivian specifically invited us here, I assume this has something to do with 2077?"
"It does," Ethan said. "We want to work with Skybound to hold Northstar's first large offline game exhibition."
Director Cole blinked. "An exhibition?"
Then he realized what that probably meant and leaned forward.
"Wait. Don't tell me 2077 is already done."
Ethan didn't bother playing mysterious.
He had no reason to hide the truth from Skybound. Northstar and Skybound were strategic partners, and neither he nor Vivian had forgotten how much support Skybound had given them along the way. When Northstar had been small, Skybound had consistently opened doors for them, even supporting riskier titles that most platforms would have buried. That loyalty mattered.
So Ethan answered plainly.
"It's playable."
Both Director Cole and Lucas Frost put down their cups at once.
Neither man could sit still anymore.
The surprise on their faces was immediate and genuine.
Playable.
That one word carried enormous weight.
Of course, Ethan knew the truth behind it. The current build was not the final, perfect version. It was stable enough, strong enough, and far more complete than many rushed AAA launches in the real world, but it still needed polishing, patches, additional systems, and post-launch support. It would continue evolving.
Even so, it was ready to be shown.
And that had cost a fortune.
"The current development cost is 2.1 billion yuan," Ethan said calmly. "And later updates will require even more. If you include the complete roadmap, the total investment will probably reach around 4 billion."
Silence hit the room like a hammer.
Lucas Frost frowned at first, thinking he had heard wrong. Director Cole swallowed hard.
"Two point one billion?" he repeated slowly.
Ethan nodded.
Neither man spoke for a moment.
That number was terrifying.
Even among major publishers, that kind of money was enough to make executives start losing sleep. For most domestic studios, it was pure fantasy. Even giants would hesitate before making a bet that large on a single game.
But Northstar had done it.
Not because it was reckless.
Because Vivian Frost was fearless, Ethan Reed was stubborn, and together they had decided that if they were going to build 2077, they would build it properly.
Director Cole finally exhaled. "Tell us what you need."
Ethan leaned back slightly. "We want a large-scale offline trial. Right now, the game is in a state where we need real player feedback—handling, bugs, pacing, combat feel, open-world response, all of it. We also want to use the event to build hype before launch."
"How many people?" Lucas asked.
"Four hundred."
Director Cole immediately sat up straighter.
"Four hundred people, live playtest, major city venue, several hours of access," Ethan continued. "Lumen City is too small for what we want. Vivian and I discussed it, and the best options are either Magic City or Pengcheng. We'd prefer Magic City."
"No problem," Director Cole answered almost before Ethan finished. "Skybound can provide the venue and equipment. Free of charge."
Ethan smiled. "That helps a lot."
"What about the player list?" Director Cole asked. "Do you want mostly streamers and media, or mostly ordinary players?"
"Half influencers, half regular players."
Director Cole hesitated for barely a second before asking, "Can Skybound select one hundred users from our own platform for the event? We'd like to tie it into our own promotion."
Ethan agreed immediately. "That's even better. Finding and screening trial players ourselves would be a headache."
"Good." Director Cole rubbed his palms together. "Then we'll handle venue arrangements, equipment, and part of the attendee selection. You handle the game. We make this big."
They discussed timing, setup, branding, and presentation. Since it was specifically for 2077, the event space would need themed decoration, exclusive merchandise, demo stations, stage lighting, signage, queue management, and security coordination. The more they talked, the clearer it became that this was no ordinary preview.
This would be a statement.
Northstar Games was preparing to return.
---
At three in the afternoon, after Director Cole and Lucas left for the airport, Ethan went to find Daniel Reed.
The two shut themselves in an office and began discussing which part of 2077 should be used for the trial.
"There aren't many bosses that really create that huge first-glance shock," Daniel said, flipping through notes. "But if you want pressure and presence, Matilda works well. Royce can work too as an early showcase boss. Placide also has strong impact if you want a climactic encounter."
Ethan thought in silence for a moment.
"Matilda stays," he said. "She works as a strong showcase. Placide can be the final major encounter for the trial flow."
"And Oda?" Daniel asked.
Ethan shook his head. "No. Oda doesn't hit hard enough for a first public exhibition."
Daniel nodded. "Understood. I'll prepare the build."
After Daniel left, Ethan remained alone in the office for a while.
He understood exactly what the exhibition needed to do.
The purpose of the trial was not just spectacle. 2077 was not a Soulslike. Its bosses would not all stun players with giant monstrous silhouettes and exaggerated mythic horror. That was not the kind of game it was trying to be. 2077 was an open-world role-playing experience, rich with systems, atmosphere, power fantasy, and player freedom.
Its strength was not just in one breathtaking boss entrance.
Its strength was in everything else.
The city.
The combat.
The choices.
The movement.
The immersion.
So the trial had two goals.
First, to let players expose problems Northstar's internal teams might have missed.
Second, to tell the entire market that 2077 was real—and that Northstar Games was no longer silent.
Thinking that, Ethan suddenly laughed to himself.
Back when he had first worked on Stardew Valley, he had also needed external testers.
And now, after all this time, he was right back at it again.
Life really did have a strange sense of humor.
---
On the night of September 6, at exactly eight o'clock, streamer Nora Vale was live on stream, going through viewer emails during one of her usual advice-and-reaction segments.
She was halfway through reading an overly dramatic confession letter from a fan when a fresh message appeared in her inbox.
Nora clicked it casually.
Then she froze.
Her eyes widened.
Her neck stretched forward toward the screen.
Slowly, carefully, she read the first line aloud.
"Hello, streamer Nora Vale. I am Ethan Reed from Northstar Games."
The chat exploded.
"NO WAY."
"Northstar? That Northstar?"
"Fake. This has to be fake."
"If someone is impersonating Ethan Reed, drag them out and execute them immediately."
Nora swallowed and kept reading.
"We sincerely invite you to attend Northstar Games' offline game exhibition. With this invitation, you may enter through the VIP channel. All attendees will receive a mystery Northstar merchandise gift and the chance to participate in a hands-on trial of our upcoming title, Cyberpunk 2077."
Nora scrolled a little further and immediately spotted a half-visible QR code beneath the message.
Her reflexes kicked in.
She shut the email at once.
The chat lost its mind.
"IT'S REAL!"
"2077 is coming out?"
"Offline game exhibition?"
"Northstar is back from the dead!"
"Why didn't they invite me? Am I not famous enough?"
And at nearly the same time, similar scenes began playing out across the internet. On BiliZone, on SharkStream, on short-video platforms, on other livestream sites, well-known game creators and variety streamers all began receiving the same invitation.
One female streamer shouted at the top of her lungs, "I am Little Piggy Princess, and I am going to Northstar's offline exhibition!"
By midnight, the entire gaming world knew.
Northstar Games had resurfaced.
And it had returned carrying something enormous.
Players began digging frantically through Skybound's storefront, and before long, someone found it. Hidden in plain sight on Northstar's page was a fresh listing.
Cyberpunk 2077
Developer: Northstar Games
Genre: RPG, Sandbox Adventure
Price: 328
Status: Available for Pre-Order
And beneath it, one line that sent a thrill through the entire market:
V has arrived.
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