"This New Year doesn't really feel much different from any other day. If I really had to point out one thing, it'd be that giving gifts is exhausting."
Edward yawned, staring at the long list in his hands, then took a deep breath.
As Joseph's son, Edward was always at his busiest during every major holiday. While other people's New Year celebrations involved eating, drinking, and relaxing, his were spent running all over the place, visiting countless people to deliver gifts. The number of people tied to his family's network was enormous, and tradition demanded that he show proper courtesy to each of them.
Fortunately, there were some whose relationship with the family wasn't particularly close—those could be handled with a simple, standard gift package. But for the ones with strong personal or business ties, Edward had to deliver the presents in person. That kept him incredibly busy.
By the end of the day, after running around nonstop, he finally managed to get through almost the entire list.
"Young Master Edward, shall we head home now?" the old butler asked from the driver's seat.
Edward hesitated. His original plan was to go home, but then he remembered what would happen the moment he did—his brother would definitely drag him off for "physical training."
The thought made him abandon that tempting idea immediately.
Instead, he asked the butler to take him to the airport. A short while later, he was on a plane heading to see Shizuka. The two went shopping together, strolling through the brightly lit streets, chatting and laughing. By the end of the day, they had officially confirmed their relationship—and even went as far as arranging an engagement.
The only thing undecided was the wedding date. Edward planned to wait until he wasn't filming any movies before holding the ceremony. After all, he and Shizuka were still quite young—there was no need to rush.
The old butler was so moved he nearly cried when he saw them together. But just when Edward was getting ready to return home, his father and older brother suddenly showed up too.
And so, to his dismay, Edward was forced to go through the traditional meet-the-parents stage right then and there.
By the time all those chaotic and exhausting events finally settled down, it was already the second week of the New Year.
"Zoroark, this is the script for Batman: The Dark Knight. Take it and start preparing for production."
Edward yawned again as he handed the document to his assistant.
Zoroark nodded obediently and carefully put the script away. Then it handed Edward another file.
Edward took a glance—
it was a data report for Pokémon All-Stars Brawl.
That game, developed under Edward's direction, had finally entered full operation. During the New Year holiday, the team had released their first major expansion—the Wind, Forest, Fire, and Mountain update—which became a huge hit.
Players went wild drawing for new Pokémon. They had been saving up resources for months, and now they were spending them all at once to get the latest additions.
But the real money didn't come from the characters—it came from skins.
"One skin costs... 999?" Edward stared, dumbfounded, at the report in his hands.
Even though he was the game's creator and the lead designer for the new Wind, Forest, Fire, and Mountain version, he hadn't been involved in the monetization side. He had left all the pricing and event planning to the game company's internal team.
He had never expected that the company's New Year limited edition skin would be priced at a staggering 999.
"Yes, boss," Zoroark said proudly. "And the profits are incredible! As soon as the update went live, our game shot straight to the top of the sales charts—rank one across the board."
Edward raised an eyebrow, doubtful. He pulled out his phone and opened the game himself. He hadn't touched it in ages, but it was still installed.
After downloading the latest update, he went to check the in-game store.
There it was—the 999-priced skin.
It was for Gardevoir.
He looked closer.
The Gardevoir model had been designed using girl boss as a template. Its ability effect was "Draw one card at the end of your turn, and force two male characters to duel during your turn."
And as for this skin...
it was—large, white, and extremely sexy.
It came with dynamic animations, full skill effects, and exclusive voice lines. Honestly, it didn't even look that overpriced when you considered all the work that went into it.
"You bought it?" Edward asked after putting his phone down.
"Of course I did!" Zoroark said matter-of-factly. "It looks amazing—how could I not?!"
Edward sighed, now understanding perfectly well why sales had exploded.
Still, 999 for a single skin shouldn't be enough to dominate the sales charts, right?
Curious, he picked up the financial report again—and then finally realized the catch.
Buying one skin gave you the basic model, yes. But if you bought more, you unlocked bonuses.
Two skins came with a limited title that would "never return."
Three got you a custom entry animation.
Four came with an acrylic plaque from the official company.
Five rewarded you with themed clothing.
Six gave you the fan that Gardevoir held in the skin.
And the ultimate—one hundred sets—
granted you a custom-made official figurine, limited to ten thousand units worldwide.
And, according to the company's website—
those ten thousand had already sold out.
The "100-set purchase" option had now been closed entirely.
Edward's mouth twitched.
One set cost 999. A hundred sets... that was nearly 100,000!
And people actually bought that?!
But then he thought back to his previous life—and those notorious "head-stepping mini games."
In his past life, Edward had often come across cheaply made, blatantly derivative games. They were repetitive idle-clicker titles that revolved entirely around "power growth." Their whole business model was pay to win: the more you spent, the stronger you became.
He'd never understood how such games could stay popular—they had terrible graphics, minimal gameplay, and exploitative monetization.
But later he realized—people were actually pouring tens or even hundreds of thousands into those games.
Some even spent millions.
The world was big, and there were all kinds of players. Some spent casually what others earned in a year. To them, dropping a few hundred thousand on a game was no different from buying lunch.
Those kinds of games didn't target casual players at all—they were designed entirely for the whales. Once a "server boss" appeared, everyone else was just there to serve as background characters for their enjoyment.
"Should I make one too?" Edward thought, half amused and half tempted.
Those exploitative mini games made a lot of money—and they were ridiculously easy to make. As long as the monetization systems were designed well enough to make whales feel powerful, success was guaranteed.
Of course, Edward wouldn't put his own name on it. He planned to invest quietly, set up a small company under someone else's management, and have them handle the project.
That way, the profits would flow straight into his pocket without his reputation being involved.
The plan was simple:
buy tons of ads, push aggressive marketing, and watch the installs climb.
As for the game concept—Edward already had one in mind.
If it succeeded, the profits could fund his hospital charity projects.
If it failed, he'd lose only a small amount of money. Either way, it was worth trying.
Soon, Edward returned to his film work, while Ghost Films resumed production on their other movies. The holiday calm was officially over; everyone was getting busy again.
Meanwhile, Edward's new "head-stepping" mini game entered development.
Thanks to his extremely detailed design outline, the game was finished in just one month.
After that, the ad campaigns went live—massive, aggressive, and everywhere.
…
"Huh? You guys want me to review this new game called Escape the Underground?"
On PoképokéTV, a male streamer looked at his chat's flood of comments and smiled.
"I've seen the ads for that one too," he said. "Looks like the developers are trying to copy Pokémon All-Stars Brawl's success. Sure, that game made it big thanks to nonstop advertising—but not every game can pull that off."
This streamer, known as Purplehead, had been playing cards before he started the review.
To be fair, Pokémon Brawl Royale was addicting—dangerously so. He couldn't go a single day without playing at least a few matches.
Ever since he bought that Gardevoir skin, he had been obsessed—checking it before bed every night, admiring the figurine on his desk.
But work was work. His audience was his lifeblood, so he sighed and opened the new game anyway.
"Huh. It's not that big in size," he murmured. "The gameplay looks simple—just mining with a pickaxe? And it costs stamina to dig… Wait, what? You can dig up equipment in the mine? Why would there be weapons underground?"
He was baffled, but the download finished quickly.
[I heard this was made by a brand-new company. Took them only a month to develop.]
[What kind of game can you make in a month?]
[Probably just a cheap little clicker.]
[Hey, I downloaded it too—only three hours since launch, and twelve servers already opened! Four per hour!]
[All of them full! Is this another Pokémon Brawl Royale?]
The chat was buzzing—everyone had seen the game's ads dozens of times over the past week.
"Alright, I'm in," Purplehead said. "First thing it asks me to do is pick a Pokémon?"
He blinked at the bizarre-looking models, picked one at random, and started mining.
At first, it seemed harmless enough. But as he leveled up, the red notification dots started appearing.
"Oh boy, here come the microtransactions. Let's see… first recharge is 3 pokedollars ? That's not bad. Supposedly boosts mining power."
He felt something was off—but curiosity got the better of him.
He bought the pack. Immediately, another popped up—5 pokedollars. Then 10.
[Oh my god, 20 pokedollars just for the starter packs!]
[Can't imagine how bad it gets later.]
[I saw one pack cost 30 pokedollars!]
[And the top-up limit is 99! Who in the world would spend 99 on this?!]
"Friends," Purplehead sighed, "this is pure garbage. A pay-to-win, server-reset cash grab. Watch me play, but don't spend a dime."
He wanted to quit—until he unlocked the "Arena."
"What? I lose and… I get enslaved by the winner?! Unless I defeat them or use a daily escape ticket?"
He stared at the screen, dumbfounded.
"Wait—escaping costs money? And I have to tribute one percent of my mining income every day to my superior?!"
His jaw dropped.
The game literally had a slavery system.
And it didn't even try to hide it—the dialogue and animations made it painfully obvious.
[HAHAHA! Purplehead got enslaved!]
[He lost by a million power gap! That guy must be a dev plant!
[No, it's another streamer! They're hunting other streamers live!]
[This is too funny—someone send me the link!]
The chat exploded in laughter.
Purplehead's face turned green.
He couldn't quit now—if he did, his account would stay enslaved forever, publicly displayed under the victor's name.
If he deleted it, he'd look even worse.
Trapped by pride, he could only grind harder—or spend money.
"Damn this game!" he shouted, slamming his desk.
…
"Wait, it's already earning this much?"
Edward had just finished filming Inner Senses when his agent sent over the profit report for Escape the Underground.
The numbers stunned him.
The game had gone profitable within weeks—and not just by a little. The profits were enough to fund half a hospital.
"Figures," Edward said, shaking his head. "Those mini games survive for a reason."
The costs were minimal—the servers were the only real expense—and the profit margins were obscene.
The reviews were horrible, of course, but he didn't care. Reputation didn't matter; this game was designed purely to make money.
The plan was simple:
open new servers, squeeze the whales dry, merge the servers, and repeat—until the numbers dropped too low, then shut it down and vanish.
That was the cycle for all trash-tier money-grab games.
"Tsk, tsk… No wonder those cheap games were so aggressive in my previous life."
Edward couldn't help but laugh. Some players had already spent millions.
He even told the company to assign exclusive customer service agents to those big spenders—personalized support, quick responses, the works.
They even offered naming rights for new servers.
As long as there was a way to milk the whales, Edward made sure to use it.
And the results were—
phenomenal.
Though he couldn't deny, it was all rather… morally questionable.
Still, money was money.
(End of Chapter)
TN: Guys, there will be no chapter 397, I don't know if it was my internet connection or site's fault but it doesn't load, so we might miss some things.