"Let me see your latest technology first," Stephen said, his filtered voice carrying a restless, eager edge. "I need to know the baseline before I decide where to start the overhaul."
"No problem. The data is all at the studio. You can head there now, and I'll send word to my assistant, Colorful Star, to give you full clearance," Julian suggested.
"No, no, no," Stephen's anime avatar shook its head frantically. "I'd rather go back with you. And... please prepare a quiet room. Somewhere I won't be disturbed. Or seen."
Julian remembered then: this was a member of the Genius Society, but he was also a man who probably viewed a crowded hallway as a death trap. "Of course. My office is secure."
To facilitate the move without drawing attention, Stephen transformed his holographic projection into a small, inconspicuous cat and perched on Julian's shoulder. It wasn't until they were locked safely inside Julian's private office at Arceus Studio that the "Part-Timer" returned to his human-ish form.
"The second-generation build is on the main terminal," Julian said, gesturing to the sleek jade-tech computer. "There's also a rough design document for the third generation. I'll have a permanent lab prepared for you, but for now, my office is yours."
Feeling a massive weight lift from his shoulders, Julian sank into the sofa and brewed a pot of tea. With Stephen handling the technical architecture, Julian could finally focus on the creative "Soul" of the Pokémon world. He drifted into a rare, peaceful sleep while the genius worked.
Julian was woken by the soft chime of a terminal. Stephen had finished reviewing the documents at a speed that made Julian's head spin.
"Are all publicly available technologies so... outdated now?" Stephen asked.
Julian could only shrug. Neither the IPC nor the Xianzhou Alliance would ever release their core, high-end technologies to the general public. As for the Genius Society, they lived centuries ahead of the rest of the universe. To Stephen, current galactic tech was probably equivalent to a stone hammer.
"I've read the proposal," Stephen continued. "The main upgrade for the third generation is the 'Learning AI.' I have two solutions. One is a self-iterating consciousness—true artificial intelligence."
Julian leaned in. "And the catch?"
"If you deploy that to players across the entire galaxy, the required computing power and energy would be astronomical. Arceus Studio would need its own sun just to power the servers. The alternative is a Quantum Matrix Database. It uses compression technology I designed to simulate intelligence. It's more efficient, but the infrastructure upgrade is still... significant."
Stephen paused to run a quick calculation. "I can only estimate, but to build the backbone for a galactic-scale MMO with this tech? You're looking at 80 trillion to 100 trillion credits. If you go for a 'dead-end' version that can't be upgraded later, maybe 20 trillion. But that would be a waste of resources."
Julian nearly choked on his tea. "80 trillion? You're kidding. I made one trillion from the first game and felt like the richest man in the Luofu. You're telling me I need to sell eighty more games just to build the servers?"
He felt like a pauper again. Compared to the price of the Genius Society's "Standard Tech," his fortune was a drop in the bucket.
"I choose the 80 trillion option," Julian sighed, rubbing his temples. "But it will take time to raise that kind of capital."
"I understand," Stephen replied, handing Julian a direct contact code. "I'll take the second-gen data with me to begin the groundwork. Contact me when the credits are ready." With a flicker, the projection vanished.
The Merchant's Secret
Julian sat in the silence of his office, finally understanding why the IPC's Traditional Gaming Department didn't use advanced AI. It wasn't a lack of talent; it was a lack of profit margin. Why spend 80 trillion on a server when a 500 million credit "gacha" game could net you a trillion in pure profit?
"Does this mean I have to release a 'cash-grab' game just to fund my dream?" Julian wondered. He thought of the mobile games from his old world—the addictive loops and the "stamina" systems. But would they even work in a universe as diverse as this one?
With a headache brewing, he called his lead assistant, Colorful Star.
"Colorful Star, I need an emergency audit. How much liquid capital does the studio have left? And what's the projection for the Gen-2 launch?"
"Reporting, Boss," the cheerful voice of the AI assistant chirped. "Recent profits totaled 63.97 trillion credits. If we include the pre-orders for the second-generation game, we expect to hit 65 trillion by the end of the month."
Julian took a slow sip of tea, his brain half-processing the numbers. "Wait... did you say 600,000?"
"No, Boss. Sixty trillion."
Julian sprayed his tea across the coffee table. "Sixty trillion?! How? The game sales shouldn't be that high yet!"
"Boss, did you forget?" Colorful Star laughed. "The Pokémon Merchandise Licensing. The plushies, the trading cards, the apparel, and the anime broadcast rights across the IPC sectors. We just received the first installment of the royalties."
Julian slapped his forehead. He had been so obsessed with the game mechanics that he'd forgotten the ultimate truth of the Pokémon franchise: the games were just the tip of the iceberg.
While the game reached two billion players, the anime and merchandise reached over two hundred billion people—from children on remote border planets to wealthy socialites in the IPC core.
"I... I actually am that rich," Julian whispered, staring at the numbers.
He didn't need a cash-grab. He didn't even need a new game. He just needed to wait for the next quarterly dividend from the plushie factories, and he'd have enough to buy Stephen Lloyd a whole solar system of servers.
"Well," Julian grinned, leaning back into his sofa. "I guess it's time to build a real world."
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