Aftershocks and Preparations

Date: March 22, 2010

Time: 8:00 PM JST

Location: Shinjuku, Tokyo – Headquarters of TanakaSoft

The executive conference room high above the neon-lit streets of Shinjuku was deathly quiet, save for the rhythmic clicking of a pen being nervously spun between the fingers of Tanaka Hiroshi, CEO of Japan's oldest and most respected game development studio.

On the center screen, muted footage from Omnilink's WarFall Global Dashboard played on a loop. Explosions of color, shimmering spell effects, and sprawling terrain unlike anything the Japanese developers had ever seen. The camera panned across Emberfall Ridge, showing Jamie's Berserker mid-swing, the 8K textures so lifelike they could feel the weight of the axe through the screen.

A younger executive, Kobayashi Tetsuo, leaned forward, knuckles resting on the table. "This isn't just a game."

"No," Hiroshi said quietly. "It's a declaration of war."

"On who?" someone asked.

Hiroshi turned slightly, his weathered face betraying the exhaustion of a man who had spent forty years building a legacy. "On all of us."

The room fell silent again.

Every major Japanese developer—TanakaSoft, Hiroto Studios, Aegis Interactive, Hoshi Games—had gathered for an emergency summit the moment WarFall began trending across Japan's gaming forums. Despite the Nova Prime's limited availability within the country, imported devices were already trading for over ¥600,000 on the black market.

Tetsuo cleared his throat. "We have two problems. First—WarFall has fundamentally changed what players expect from mobile games. It's not just graphics or gameplay. It's scale, technology, and the seamless streaming through Omnilink."

Hiroshi's brow furrowed. "We can't match that."

"No," Tetsuo agreed. "Not unless we rewrite everything. Our engines. Our infrastructure. Even our publishing agreements."

A grim murmur of agreement passed through the room. Japanese development pipelines were efficient, but cautious and traditional. They perfected genres, honed incremental improvements, but they never tore everything down to build something alien.

WarFall was alien.

The second problem was worse.

"Sony and Nintendo have both started internal investigations," Tetsuo continued. "They're trying to figure out if Nova Technologies has been secretly developing hardware in Japan. They don't believe it's possible a Kolkata-based company could leapfrog the entire global gaming industry."

"They think it's a front?" Hiroshi asked.

"They think there's some Western or Chinese supercompany pulling the strings," Tetsuo confirmed. "Our tech experts are already warning the Ministry of Economy that if Nova's technology reaches the Japanese public at scale, our domestic hardware sector could collapse within five years."

The room fell into a tense silence.

"Then we have no choice," Hiroshi finally said. "We petition the government."

"For what?"

"A technological containment agreement," Hiroshi said. "If Japan's market is flooded with Nova devices, we lose our manufacturing edge forever. Our consoles, our handhelds—they all become irrelevant."

"But the players—" one executive began.

"The players want WarFall," Hiroshi cut him off. "They don't care who makes it."

Tetsuo's voice was quieter. "We're not just fighting Nova, Hiroshi-san. We're fighting our own future."

Hiroshi leaned back, the shadows under his eyes deepening. "Then we'd better fight harder."

Location: Jadavpur – Aritra's VillaTime: 6:30 PM IST

The setting sun cast a soft glow across the balcony, the golden light flickering off the ripples of Dakuriah Lake. Aritra stood with one hand resting on the black iron railing, his Nova Prime held to his ear.

On the other end, the voice of Maharashtra's Chief Minister, the BVM puppet, was laced with enthusiasm.

"Sir, the arrangements will be flawless," the CM assured, though the slight nervousness in his voice didn't escape Aritra's attention. "We've already started scouting locations across Mumbai. We're considering either Wankhede Stadium or a custom-built esports arena near the new convention center."

Aritra's fingers tapped gently against the rail. "Don't make it too flashy."

The CM paused. "But, sir—this is a global event."

"It's not a circus," Aritra said calmly. "Players come for the game. Spectators come for the competition. Give them space, technology, and flawless logistics. Everything else is noise."

"Understood, sir. And the budget?"

"No limit," Aritra said, his voice soft but absolute. "But keep it quiet. I want the world to be surprised, not expecting."

The CM's enthusiasm returned. "We'll make Mumbai proud, sir."

Aritra ended the call, the lake breeze brushing against his skin. The world was watching the device and the game. Soon, they'd be watching his city.

Location: Blackthorne Estate – Undisclosed Location, SwitzerlandTime: 3:00 PM CET

The circular stone chamber, deep within the Blackthorne Estate, was lit by nothing but flickering oil sconces. Nathaniel Blackthorne sat at the head of the table, his usual polished demeanor replaced with something colder, sharper.

Across from him, the four senior members of the Blackthorne family's global influence network sat in silence. No digital devices were allowed inside this room — only paper, sealed folders, and their combined memories.

A thick dossier lay open in front of Nathaniel, filled with data streams, intercepted communications, and early chatter from global intelligence agencies.

"He's forcing their hands," said Madame Lyra Blackthorne, the oldest living member, her voice like silk stretched too thin. "Japan. South Korea. Even the Americans. They're all scrambling."

Nathaniel's fingers drummed against the wood. "They still think it's a company."

Lyra smiled faintly. "Because they cannot comprehend what it really is."

"They will," Nathaniel said quietly. "When it's too late."

The man to Nathaniel's left, Sebastian Blackthorne, leaned forward. "The family needs to decide. How far do we let him go before we intervene?"

Nathaniel's smile didn't reach his eyes. "There's nothing to intervene in."

"What if he disrupts the balance? Telecom giants, military contracts, gaming monopolies — even governments are starting to whisper."

"He's not disrupting," Nathaniel said. "He's restructuring."

"And if they try to stop him?" Lyra asked softly.

Nathaniel's fingers stilled. "Then we remind them what happens when they play games they can't win."

No one spoke after that. There was nothing left to say.

In the flickering light, Nathaniel's shadow seemed to stretch, curling around the edges of the room like the promise of something inevitable.