Is WindyPeak Games still a small studio?
Let's be real—no question about it.
But is WindyPeak currently a small company in the gaming world?
Not really.
They're doing the work of a medium-to-large studio while technically still small.
That's the weird spot WindyPeak's found itself in.
Even Victor Lang was scratching his head trying to classify them.
"Well…" Victor nodded thoughtfully. "It's kind of… borderline."
He added with a hint of skepticism, "A little overpowered, don't you think?"
You gotta remember:
Last time they jumped into the Indie Game Fest, WindyPeak crushed a bunch of studios their size with Vampire Survivor.
Before the results even dropped, they were already the unofficial champs.
Now, after grinding for a year, WindyPeak's making waves across the U.S. and starting to compete with established first-tier developers.
So you still wanna throw your hat in the Indie Game Fest ring?
Victor's face twisted in a complicated mix of disbelief and slight annoyance. He felt Gus was kinda shameless.
But little did he know—Gus's plan for this Indie Game Fest was no joke or a cheap flex.
It was all about racking up emotional value points.
Faced with three massive industry giants squeezing from all sides, Gus had no choice but to bring out the big guns: Titanfall 2.
Out of all his options, Titanfall 2 was the only game with a solid story and multiplayer scalability that could even stand a chance.
According to his estimates, by the end of next month—the latest possible start date for the Escort masterpiece—his emotional value from PUBG should hit about 900,000 points.
Just a hundred thousand short.
He needed to bridge that gap with a smaller game that could still boost player emotions.
He hadn't decided which game yet, but the slot had to be filled.
Victor mulled it over and eventually decided WindyPeak joining the Indie Game Fest outright wasn't the best fit.
So he proposed a compromise.
"How about this, Director Harper," Victor said, "given your current status and reputation, joining the Indie Game Fest as a competitor might actually be a waste of your talent."
"To keep the event fair for other small and mid-sized studios, here's what I'm thinking."
"As a specially invited developer, your studio will participate in our online opening ceremony."
"You'll get to showcase your game during the event."
"Your titles won't be subject to the usual 14-day free trial period—they'll go on sale immediately as a warm-up."
"You'll have fixed homepage placement on the Indie Game Fest platform."
"But you won't be ranked on the Indie Game Fest leaderboards."
"How's that sound?"
Gus thought it over briefly and nodded.
Sounds good.
He was mainly after publicity and more players, anyway.
Profit? Didn't matter this time. He just wanted emotional value points to unlock Titanfall 2's core resources.
Victor's offer hit all the right spots—better than just competing in the rankings.
"Since President Victor values us so much," Gus said with a smirk, "turning down an offer like this would be rude."
Victor chuckled and waved his hand, relieved.
"Director Harper, you're too modest."
After a round of friendly goodbyes, Victor left.
…
After seeing Victor off, Gus checked the time—10:30 a.m.
That weird in-between time when lunch's too early but breakfast's too late.
So he and Zoey strolled over to the break area, ready to grab some snacks.
Yeah—grab snacks.
To boost morale, relax the team, and spark creativity—Zoey's words.
Zoey had shaken things up at WindyPeak.
She replaced the usual snack shelf with not one, but a dozen claw machines arranged in a circle around the lounge.
They were stocked with all kinds of goodies—chips, shrimp sticks, gummies, candied fruit, cookie bars.
Swapped out weekly by the supermarket downstairs.
Best part?
No coins required.
You could stand there and try all day.
But anyone who's battled a claw machine knows the trick.
The grip strength is all in the settings.
At first, Zoey adjusted the claws to a medium strength—about like the ones at the mall.
You'd get a prize once every 20 or 30 tries.
If you wanted snacks, you had to work for it.
That meant more slack time but less work hours.
At first, everyone was on edge.
Then one day, Zoey and the deputy art director, Jade Sierra, were caught goofing off for a solid stretch at the cookie stick claw machine.
The boss leading by example.
Suddenly everyone relaxed and started snagging snacks.
And that wasn't all.
Some weren't patient enough to battle the claw machine mechanics.
They just wanted instant snacks.
No problem.
Zoey had also bought a batch of game coins for the machines.
Drop in a coin and the claw locked at max grip strength, guaranteeing a catch every time.
But how to earn those coins?
Easy.
Zoey upgraded the company's cameras to facial recognition.
If you clocked out on time and were absent between 5 p.m. and 9 a.m., you passed attendance and earned a daily game coin.
You could collect them from HR monthly.
This reverse attendance system had WindyPeak running like clockwork.
Even Gus admired it.
"If we spent half this brainpower on projects, we'd have IPO'd already," he joked.
"Gus, Gus—I want those," Zoey said, spotting her favorite coconut lollipops in the machine.
She knew Gus's claw game skills—he was a pro, snagging one out of ten tries without coins.
"Lollipops are tricky," Gus said, cracking his knuckles.
"Small and slippery, pretty tough without coins."
"Let me give it a shot."
He hit start and maneuvered the joystick.
While aiming, he started, "About the Escort masterpiece…"
He wanted to continue his earlier pitch to Zoey—his ideas, strategies, budget.
Most importantly, to reassure her.
He was confident WindyPeak could reverse their fortunes and take the top spot in this 'Tian Ji Horse Racing' battle.
Titanfall 2 might be an underdog, but he was ready to fight tooth and nail.
But Zoey cut him off, holding up a hand with a smirk.
"Shhh… Gus, you don't have to say a word. I trust you. Just focus on snagging me that coconut lollipop."
She added in her mind: It's a loss anyway—no use stressing.
Against these three giants, with budgets dozens of times ours, don't expect to profit.
Keeping the company afloat is already a win.
Gus rolled his eyes and swatted her hand away, grinning.
"Cut the crap. Just admit you don't get it."
Still, he was touched deep down.
If this was a small project worth a few hundred grand, and Zoey didn't care, maybe she was lazy or indifferent.
But this was a game with a nine-figure investment.
A make-or-break moment for WindyPeak's future.
If they cleared this hurdle, they'd cement their spot as a mid-tier studio.
Failing meant risking bankruptcy—a fate many had faced.
And for Zoey to entrust him with such a crucial project?
It wasn't just guts—it was belief.
Belief in him, the team, and the miracle they could pull off.
Buzz—
The claw hovered over the coconut lollipop.
Gus shifted the joystick, swinging the claw to sweep the stick toward the drop chute.
"Alright," he smiled warmly.
"Don't blame me if I mess up."
Zoey's eyes sparkled.
"Gus, what are you talking about? We're family. No room for doubts here."
She almost laughed but held it in.
"With you leading, we won't lose money on this game!"
She patted his shoulder mockingly.
Haha, yeah right—no losses here. Pure nonsense.
Better keep your mind steady and not freak out.
Buzz—
Click.
The claw swept the lollipop's tail just enough to nudge it closer.
There's hope!
Gus's eyes lit up and he kept at it.
Then asked, "What about the Indie Game Fest? Got any ideas?"
Zoey remembered Gus's earlier question about Victor's fest invite.
He probably wanted to use it to drum up cash for Titanfall 2.
She wasn't really interested.
It was just a small PC game—cheap to make compared to the motion-sensing cabin.
At most a $100k–$200k investment.
Even if it tanked, the best rebate was $2 million.
Better to focus on the Escort masterpiece for a 10% rebate.
"What do you think?" she asked, eyes on the lollipops inching closer.
Gus pushed the joystick, edging the lollipop closer.
"No ideas. Figured I'd ask you."
Zoey shrugged, remembering Gus's PUBG jab.
"If I asked you to make a cooking game, you'd say no, right? We'd totally lose money."
She rolled her eyes.
There was no way Gus would greenlight an obviously losing project.
Before she finished—
Snap!
With expert precision, Gus snagged the lollipop into the chute with a click.
Gus grinned.
"See? Not impossible."
Zoey blinked, confused.
"What do you mean 'not impossible'?"
Gus squatted, pulled out the lollipop, and handed it to her.
"Cooking game? No problem."
Zoey froze, peeling the wrapper, puzzled.
"Dude, didn't you say cooking games were dumb at the Asian Games opening ceremony? Ready to test your IQ limits?"
Gus laughed, shaking his head.
"Back then, I meant they don't fit somatosensory cabins or esports."
"But now, we're making a small PC game."
"Different rules, different feasibility."
"Picture this—call your best friend, or lover."
"Cook up some local cuisine together, craft exquisite dishes."
"Serve happy customers and feel that satisfaction."
"Friends grow closer, lovers bond stronger."
"People aren't gonna throw money away on a cheap PC game they can't enjoy."
"Why not give it a shot?"
Zoey nodded, warming to the idea.
A two-player cooperative cooking game.
Sounds pretty fun.
Cooking side-by-side with your bestie or bae, getting compliments, feeling accomplished.
That inner joy is powerful.
Definitely builds friendships and relationships.
She sucked on her lollipop.
"Okay, that actually sounds reasonable. Like, a game I'd actually want to play."
"You can," Gus said, grabbing some chips.
"Why don't you join me for the Indie Game Fest livestream? It's co-op—I need a partner."
Zoey's eyes lit up.
"Perfect!"
She didn't care about the game's profits, so why not boost Gus's confidence?
Some psychological comfort, at least.
She stood up, lollipop in mouth, patted his shoulder, and gave a thumbs-up.
"With our combined skills, the livestream's gonna be a blast and the game's gonna crush it!"
Seeing Zoey so pumped, Gus smiled to himself.
Doesn't matter if it sells.
Main goal: rack up emotional points.
If this was a giveaway, fine.
Losses don't scare me—I'll make it up with the blockbuster.
With that—
[System, unlock Overcooked.]
…
Time flew by.
Though it was late fall heading into winter, the atmosphere at the Portland SkyDome was red hot.
A massive, beautifully lit stage took center.
Hundreds of motion-sensing cabins encircled the stage like stars around the moon, flashing bright.
On four massive circular screens, a guy in jeans, a white shirt, and a heavy helmet ripped through an explosion on a motorcycle.
The official viewing area was packed with cheering fans waving flags.
The noise was deafening.
Music kicked off.
The DJ's voice boomed:
"Ladies and gentlemen—welcome to the 6th Annual Asian Esports Game Developers Conference Awards and the PUBG Asia Invitational Tournament, co-hosted by the Global Digital Entertainment Association, Neon Dongjin Game Club, Korea Esports Game Alliance, and West Asia Crescent Technology!"
"Welcome, everyone!!!"
Boom!
In the packed SkyDome, the crowd erupted.
Flames burst from the stage.
Fireworks lit up the night sky.
The giant 6th Asian Games logo flashed with colorful beams piercing the air—dazzling and brilliant.
After a month of intense competition, the quadrennial Pan-Asia Esports Game Developers Conference crowned its champion ten days ago.
WindyPeak, the Seattle-based studio, outdid all rivals with a $50 million budget, 1.5 million copies sold, and nearly $150 million in sales.
As the news hit, the U.S. gaming community exploded.
Calls of congratulations flooded in, and angel investors lined up.
For a moment, WindyPeak was the hottest, most sought-after name in the industry.
From gaming to media—and even unrelated sectors—everyone wanted a piece.
Many, through Zoey's family connections, tried to invest and get in on the action.
Zoey was firm, though—free sponsorship was fine, but no profit-sharing.
Meanwhile, auditions for the Asian Games esports tournament were underway.
Since the game had only been out a month, clubs weren't fully formed yet, and many big teams remained cautious.
So like previous years, the competition would be an exhibition match.
After several rounds online, the top five teams from each of Asia's five major regions—25 teams total—would come to the SkyDome for the offline finals.
Outside, the autumn wind was chilly.
Inside, the scene was fiery. —