A deep, satisfying breath filled my lungs. The scent of Nadia perfume—something floral and soft, like old roses—still clung to my skin, a pleasant, intimate reminder of what had just happened, the sex and everything, even more, it was the connection we'd just reforged, it is now stronger and more profound than ever before, now that she is not only my grandmother, but also my wife.
I felt… incredible. It was more than just the pleasant, physical hum left over from our intense session, though that was certainly there, a warm and lazy thrum in my veins. This was deeper, a settled feeling in my bones. It was the quiet, profound satisfaction of a problem finally solved, a bridge not just repaired but rebuilt with stronger materials.
The last, stubborn vestiges of the old Sael's damage, at least within this family, felt truly and irrevocably mended. I ran a hand through my hair, a slow, lazy smile touching my lips as I ambled over to my desk. The familiar, slightly worn chair let out a soft groan of protest as I dropped into it, the weight of my body a comfortable, real feeling in this moment of contentment.
"TAP!".
With a tap of the space bar, my primary monitor flickered to life, bathing the dim room in a soft, ethereal blue glow. The desktop background—a stunning, high-res render of the Black Morass from my old world's Warcraft universe—always gave me a tiny, secret thrill.
"Sunday," I said, my voice relaxed, almost a murmur. "Wake up, sleepyhead. Time for the quarterly report. Or, well, the 'however-long-it's-been-since-we-checked' report... Let's see how the world is treating our little nightmare.".
"[Good evening, Sir,]" her voice was crisp yet infused with a synthetic warmth, comes from my PC Speaker. "[I am fully operational and never truly enter a 'sleep' cycle. But I appreciate the anthropomorphism. It is… charming. A quirk of your personality I have come to anticipate.]"
"Oh, thank you, anyway… Let's hear It, How's our little nightmare baby faring in the big, wide, scary world?". I couldn't help but chuckle, leaning back in my chair until the springs complained.
"[Compiling the most recent data for 'Silent Hill: First Fear' now,]" Sunday replied. On my monitor, lines of raw data began to stream in a dizzying cascade, numbers and graphs moving at a speed only she could process, but she translated it all into a smooth, comprehensible verbal report.
"[The sales metrics continue to show a positive and remarkably steady upward trajectory... The initial 48-hour surge was, as we documented, historically unprecedented for an independent release… However, instead of experiencing the sharp logarithmic decline typical of most media products, we have settled into a consistent, robust daily sales volume that continues to far exceed all initial prognostications...]". She reported.
"Paint me a picture… How consistent are we talking?" I asked, propping my bare feet up on the cluttered desk, interlocking my fingers behind my head in a posture of pure, unadulterated relaxation.
"[We are maintaining an average of one hundred to one hundred and twenty thousand units sold per day, across all global regions on the Vapor platform,]" Sunday stated with calm precision.
"[This baseline is supplemented by periodic, smaller surge events, often directly correlating with prominent media coverage or a new wave of influencer content.]".
"A hundred thousand a day. Just… rolling in while I sleep, eat, and… live my life… that is amazing,". I let out a low, slow whistle that cut through the quiet of my room.
The sheer, monstrous scale of it was still almost impossible to wrap my head around. In my old life, selling a thousand copies of my little RPG Maker game would have had me celebrating with a six-pack of cheap beer and a premium pizza. This was… astronomical. This was life-altering.
"[It is worth noting,]" Sunday continued, and I could have sworn there was a hint of dry, algorithmic amusement in her tone, "[that the unsanctioned marketing campaign orchestrated by our detractors has proven to be a significant contributing factor to this sustained longevity.]"
"Oh, this I gotta hear in detail. Break it down for me... Give me the post-mortem on their epic fail.".
"[The strategy employed by the entities we suspect to be affiliated with Thundra Corps. and other major studios—specifically, flooding key social channels with coordinated negative reviews, attempting to discredit the game's originality by claiming asset plagiarism, and universally labeling it a 'shallow, cynical asset flip'—succeeded primarily in generating immense, and ultimately invaluable, visibility… The controversy they sought to create effectively became the advertisement.]".
I nodded slowly, watching the endless data flow on the screen like a digital river of success. I could picture it perfectly, the exact kind of corporate cynicism that would backfire so beautifully.
"So, people saw a bunch of obvious, slick corporate shills trying to dogpile a small, indie passion project…. It probably pissed them off, nothing gets the internet on your side like a blatant Goliath trying to smash David…. Besides, gamers aren't that gullible, they overlooked that,".
"[Precisely,]" Sunday confirmed, her sphere flickering as she pulled up sentiment analysis charts.
"[It triggered a powerful counter-cultural movement among consumers... The hashtag '#LookCloser,' initially created by detractors to mock the game's intentional aesthetic, was almost immediately co-opted by players who began using it to share genuine moments of terror, clever puzzles, and effusive praise. The glaring disparity between the vitriolic, coordinated press and the overwhelmingly positive organic user experience created a compelling and persuasive narrative. Consumers began to actively distrust the established media outlets and place their trust in the aggregated voice of their peers.]".
"HAHA!!! They played themselves... Absolutely played themselves… They tried to stomp us out and just ended up packing the powder tighter.". A wide, triumphant grin spread across my face. It was a beautiful thing.
I savored the irony for a long moment, letting it wash over me. It was a classic underdog story from my world, playing out in perfect harmony here in this one.
"And the media? The big outlets? They've finally caught on to the wind change, haven't they?".
"[Affirmative… The tone of major media coverage has undergone a dramatic shift over the past seventy-two hours. The outright hostile and dismissive articles have ceased entirely. They have been replaced by pieces that attempt to analytically deconstruct the 'Silent Hill phenomenon,' often clumsily reframing their initial criticism as 'healthy industry skepticism' before pivoting to praise the game's 'unexpected psychological depth' and 'masterful environmental pacing.' It is a clear and calculated attempt to realign themselves with the prevailing public opinion and to avoid alienating a significant audience that you now cultivate.]"
I barked a short, sharp laugh that echoed in my small room.
"So, they're backtracking… Performing full-blown rhetorical gymnastics to save face and desperately get on the good side of the new kid on the block who just proved he has a bigger stick...".
There was no real anger in it, just a deep, bone-deep sense of vindication. They'd thrown their best punch with all their corporate weight behind it, and we hadn't just weathered it; we'd absorbed the kinetic energy and used it to propel ourselves even higher.
"They're realizing it's far more profitable to have me as a subject for their articles than as an enemy... Smart move... Took them long enough.".
The numbers on the screen continued their endless scroll, a silent, relentless testament to success. It wasn't just a flash in the pan. It was stable, solid and concrete. I had built a strong foundation, and I now knew it was made of something far stronger than any smear campaign could ever hope to break. Which is, a really good game, that they cannot denied that it was a masterpiece. With this, the last remnants of fear were gone, replaced by a steady, thrumming confidence by the masses, my Silent Hill was now unshakable.
"Hah~ that feel nice…. Alright, enough stroking my ego over sales numbers,". I said, though the grin was still firmly plastered on my face. "That's just one metric… What about the social footprint? The buzz, the cultural cachet, that's just as important for the long game… Hit me with those numbers, Sunday, Let's see how we were doing on that side.".
"[Of course, Sir,]". Sunday replied without missing a beat. The data on my screen dissolved and reformed into a series of vibrant, multi-colored graphs and growing counters.
"[The growth across Meteor Studio's official social channels remains exponential. Beginning with Chirper: our follower count has now surpassed five million. Engagement rates are exceptionally high, even with just our trailer post over one hundred thousand likes and tens of thousands of retweets.]".
"Five million chirping birds," I mused, picturing the endless scroll of memes, theories, and fan art that must have been flooding that feed. "Not bad for a studio that didn't exist a few months ago… Keep going.".
"[On Facepage, our official page has achieved a truly monumental milestone,]" Sunday announced, and even her voice seemed to lend a little extra weight to the figure. "[We have officially surpassed one billion followers.]"
I sat up straight, my feet dropping from the desk with a soft thud. "A billion? You're sure? A billion?" The number was so ludicrous it almost didn't compute. That wasn't an audience; that was a significant chunk of the entire planet's population.
"[The figure is correct and is consistently verified,]" Sunday confirmed. "[It should be noted that Facepage's platform is the primary social media hub for the entire globe, and 'following' a page is a much more passive action than on other platforms… However, the number is no less significant for its scale, it represents near-universal name recognition for Meteor Studio in the digital space.]".
"Right, right," I said, trying to recalibrate my brain.
"It's like everyone on the planet with a phone is at least aware of us. That's… that's the kind of reach; money literally can't buy." The power of that was staggering. We could announce anything to a billion people with a single post.
"[Finally, on MeTube, our channel has garnered six million subscribers,]" Sunday continued, moving down the list. "[Our trailer remains the most viewed video, but the 'Let's Play' videos from prominent creators featuring Silent Hill are generating significant secondary traffic and are a primary driver of new subscriptions.]"
"Overwhelmingly good," I breathed out, the words feeling inadequate. "That's the only way to describe it. For a studio that's basically just me and you, that's an overwhelmingly good improvement... We're not just a flash in the pan; we're a proper cultural entity now…" The thought was humbling and electrifying all at once.
"[There is one more metric you may wish to review,]" Sunday interjected softly. "[Your personal project.]"
She brought up a new screen. It was the channel for my VTuber avatar, the androgynous, piano-playing persona I'd created on a whim. The subscriber counts there was smaller, but in its own way, far more personal and impressive: one hundred thousand people following… me. Or at least, a version of me.
"And the video?" I asked, my voice a little quieter.
"[The premiere of 'River Flows In You' has now attained two million views,]" Sunday reported. "[The viewer sentiment analysis is overwhelmingly positive, with a 98% approval rating... The comment sections across all regions are uniformly filled with praise for the musical composition's originality and emotional resonance, as well as admiration for the music video's haunting and minimalist aesthetic. Many are expressing a strong desire for more original music from the channel.]"
I leaned back again, a different kind of smile on my face now—softer, more genuine. This wasn't about business or strategy. This was someone from my old world, a piece of Yiruma's beautiful soul, touching people here. They didn't know it was a cover; they thought it was an original piece from a mysterious new artist. And they loved it. The success of Meteor Studio was a triumph of strategy. This… this felt like a triumph of spirit of my own.