The city seemed to breathe for the launch.
Two announcements per hour on giant billboards, interviews scheduled, and behind-the-scenes micro-documentaries popping up on specialized channels, LuxCore had transformed what had been, weeks before, a burst of anticipation into a wave impossible to ignore.
Among the ten DreamDev approved, some had already hit the market in that time: smaller, likable titles with occasional good reviews and modest sales. Good news for developers: they met expectations and generated revenue, but nothing compared to the hurricane that was Resident Evil.
The trailer had already surpassed 100 million views. Viral edits, mashups, clips of the scare moments with remixed tracks, all of this spread beyond hardcore gamer circles.
LuxCore, of course, fed the machine: daily teasers, interviews, a behind-the-scenes look at the voice acting, deals with streaming platforms, media packs with game art, and high-resolution images released to the press. Airi did more livestreams. The voice actors reposted snippets from the studio. The game's hashtag dominated global trending topics.
A week before the release, as per industry standard, review copies arrived in the editorial offices and virtual inboxes of selected critics. There were 20 master copies, distributed among international outlets and influential critics: complete copies, final builds under embargo. LuxCore demanded two clear commitments: no spoilers and maintaining the embargo until the agreed upon time. It was a policy of protection, but also of narrative control.
When the embargo fell, something predictable and yet impressive happened: the trade press, overwhelmingly, reacted enthusiastically. It wasn't just marketing hype; the critics who really played the game delivered technical, emotional, and in-depth analyses. Below, some of the voices that defined the first wave of reception.
Arcadia Review — 10/10
Helena Morimoto
Resident Evil is more than a game: it's a breathing space. Makoto Yoshida builds a living mansion where every corridor matters, every door has a purpose, and every puzzle rewards patient attention. The resource system is just the right amount of cruel, the voice acting lends a human texture to the scenes, and the sound design transforms silence into an instrument. Visually, it's a demonstration of how light and grime, when handled well, tell stories on their own. An instant classic of modern survival horror.
Highlights: art direction, ambiance, voice acting, puzzle design, pacing.
Pixel Praxis — 9.5/10
Dario Vescovi
It's rare to see a game that understands scarcity as a design, not a limitation. The inventory functions as a language; the player thinks, plans, and feels the weight of each ammunition. Both campaigns offer variations in pace that multiply replayability. Small design decisions (counted saves, typewriters as reliquaries) allow the game to breathe at the right pace. Some difficulty spikes may frustrate newcomers, but for those seeking endurance horror, it's impeccable.
Highlights: resource systems, balance, replayability, save design.
Ludology Quarterly — ★★★★★
Anaïs Dupont
As a study in pacing and anticipation, Resident Evil is a masterclass. The alternation between exploration, discovery, peaks of anxiety, and resolution serves as a musical score. The use of diegetic sound and voice performance transform NPCs into people, not puppets. It's a work that straddles classic horror and modern accessibility demands without betraying either.
Highlights: sound, environmental script, narrative structure.
Kansai Interactive — 38/40 (Panel)
Skin visuals, micro-details in fabrics, and specular eye shapes; puzzles that tell stories; enemies that challenge without seeming designed solely for stat boosts. Lisa, a presence that aches, and the aquatic core with its quiet tension are highlights. Combat is tense when necessary; when not, it's about stealth and economy.
Highlights: graphic technique, facial animation, enemy design.
Game Observatory — Editor's Choice
Samir Al-Kindi
Technically, it's impressive. The audio mix is top-notch, with thunder giving weight to scenes, and creaking wood as a prelude. A minor flaw: a middle section may feel like an unbalanced difficulty spike for players choosing less linear paths, but nothing that compromises the overall picture.
Social media exploded with quotes, colorful pulls , and GIFs. Clips of Airi laughing, fans crying (with joy), and voice actors celebrating all became organic marketing material. Pre-sales spiked. Store servers requested staggered delivery: there was real concern about launch instability.
And then the exception appeared.
A note of acid.
Among the analysis, one review stood out like a stone in a still pond: Kaito Mizushima, from the influential website The Crown Critique, published a scathing review, 2/10. The tone wasn't just critical: it seemed personal.
Selected excerpt (paraphrased from the original):
"Visually, there's a gloss to it, and that's unfortunately part of the problem. The game relies on effects to mask a design that is, at its core, a collection of survival horror clichés. Mechanics that feel outdated, puzzles that seek retro artifacts, a narrative that recycles images without adding real meaning. It's style without substance."
The reaction was immediate and polarized. A few readers accepted the provocation, while many others, in light of the majority's analysis, reacted with surprise. Kaito was known for his blunt and controversial writing, but the discrepancy between his tone and the consensus left a wound.
Makoto read the play with Ren in a nearly empty LuxCore cubicle. The Crown archive flashed on the screen.
"Two out of ten."
Ren muttered in disbelief.
"Wow… how can someone…"
Makoto felt his stomach turn for a second, not so much because of the text itself, but because of the feeling of displacement: the criticism seemed targeted, harsh where everything else was praising.
Before doubt could take root, Sakura's message came.
Sakura Amano: "I saw the review. Don't worry. We're already taking care of it."
That short sentence had, for Makoto, a dubious tone: guarantee? promise? order? He didn't ask. He trusted.
The explosion of evidence.
Hours later, the internet was buzzing for another reason: an anonymous account on a niche forum published a package of files that quickly went viral. It contained screenshots of messages, audio from calls, and screenshots of bank transfers, all pointing to a negotiation between Kenji Sasaki (the developer whose game wasn't selected) and Kaito Mizushima.
The leaked summary content:
Direct messages where Kenji offered values and asked for a "categorical opinion" that would lessen the impact of the competing game.
An audio (with Kenji's voice confirmed by the number identification) in which he proposes a payment and a list of points to be emphasized, "highlight the design as 'nostalgic' and 'dated'" , "cite a break in rhythm", "mention 'graphics that do not support mechanics'".
Screenshot of a transfer receipt to an account linked to an intermediary used by Kaito (which later led journalists to piece together the chain of responsibility).
A spreadsheet with topics to attack in the article.
The Crown Critique website took down the review. Kaito issued a statement, then another, until social media demanded more forceful responses. The rumor that the journalist had been "hired" to debunk the game went viral. #EthicsInReview and #ExposeMizushima ranked first overall.
Repercussions.
LuxCore reacted quickly. CEO Ayaka Takamura ordered an internal investigation and notified its legal department to file a lawsuit for defamation and market fraud. The company would not tolerate paid opinion manipulation aimed at harming competing products.
Takeshi Morioka, the founder, remained silent publicly, but his lawyers activated crisis channels. In an institutional statement, LuxCore stated that it was cooperating with authorities and would await the formal results: a defensive stance, without hysteria.
The portal that hosted Kaito suspended the critic and launched an internal investigation. Several major media outlets published investigative reports with excerpts of the audio and screenshots.
Kenji, who had been promoted within the corporate culture by his father, became the target of vitriolic comments. News reports cited the title and name of his father, Shoji Sasaki, marketing director, and with that, LuxCore saw the drama quickly escalate to personal and institutional levels.
In newsrooms, journalists demanded transparency; on timelines, fans called for a boycott. Many turned their attacks on the critic: accusations of influence peddling, breach of ethics, and manipulation. Kaito initially claimed innocence, but then the suspension came.
For Makoto, the feeling was strange and contrasting. On one hand, moral anguish and discomfort with the father figure of the story's antagonist, Shoji. On the other, the uncomfortable fact: the controversy drew even more attention to Resident Evil. Pre-sales jumped again.
"This is going to explode even more."
Ren said, half scared, half happy.
"Man, the situation is terrible… but… wow."
Makoto didn't smile easily. He thought of Shoji: the man who had guided him through corporate meetings, in whom he had placed his trust (unlike his own stepfather), now in a delicate position.
If LuxCore were strict, and Ayaka was known for not tolerating transgressions, Shoji might, at the very least, face public shaming; Kenji was at real risk of dismissal for inappropriate conduct.
Makoto, being honest with himself, felt a knot in his throat: he didn't want someone to fall on his own, even though he'd never been close to Shoji. It wasn't his conflict, but it was human to feel discomfort.
Sakura, straight from the legal department, appeared in Makoto's cubicle with her usual calm.
"Everything is under control. Legal has already taken the appropriate measures. The portal has suspended the author. The company will cooperate with the investigation."
"What about Shoji? And Kenji?"
Makoto asked.
Sakura breathed.
"It's not your job. The company takes action. Focus on what matters: the launch. Greater visibility only helps the game."
Makoto simply nodded. Sakura's response had a familiar, practical, and cold tone: solve the problem first, unravel the consequences later. She wasn't lying; the storm had drawn more people to the beach where Resident Evil would be released.
The internet as jury and curator.
The effect was predictable and savage. Within hours:
#ExposeMizushima rose to the top; comparisons to other journalism ethics scandals proliferated.
Fans created montages with the LuxCore Direct headline and screenshots of the leak.
The trailer skyrocketed from 100M to 180M views in just a few days. Clicks on pre-order pages soared, the limited physical edition of the game sold out at several online retailers, and LuxCore's store had virtual lines and a wait timer.
Influencers revisited the trailer with new videos re-exploring each micro-cut.
Airi launched a series of special pre-launch livestreams, inviting friendly critics and fans to collaborative plays starting on launch day.
The public narrative flipped: the sabotage attempt had failed, and the community reacted in defense of the game, and its rising developer.
Makoto, confused, watched the phenomenon with a mixture of disbelief, guilt and a strange warmth in his chest, it was clear that his creation was now cushioned by a story that no one had foreseen.
----
Not all industry voices were thrilled with the controversy. On a high terrace in Minato, surrounded by glass and a glass of bourbon, Shin Takasugi , CEO of NexusSoft Games , was arguing with his fiancée, Kaede Kuroyami.
"My idiot ex-boyfriend became the center of attention."
Kaede spoke with a cold smile, dressed for events that measure people by status.
"He is in the spotlight, yes."
Shin replied thoughtfully.
"We need to see how this develops."
Kaede teased:
"You can erase this. You have the power. Why not destroy him now?"
Shin looked at her with controlled indifference.
"This isn't a one-move game. It's not about erasing. It's about timing, the market, and the narrative. Makoto could become the brightest star. Or a passing comet. It depends on the product, his decisions, and the audience's response."
Shin's gaze was calculated, cold; he had the calm of someone who controls investments and waits for the right moment to move pieces.
"If we act rashly, everything we do can become ammunition against us."
"Or we can go in and crush him."
Kaede whispered, more like wishful thinking than strategy.
Shin shook his head.
"Nothing is that simple. The industry responds to momentum. Sometimes the best move is to wait and see which way the wind blows."
Kaede bit her lip, irritated.
"I want to see him fall."
She said softly. But Shin just turned his eyes to the city, where lights announced the appointed date.
"We will watch. And we will be patient."
----
LuxCore followed the schedule: regional trailers, selected interviews, latest performance reviews, server checks, media packs.
The wave of attention created a new daily problem: managing the expectations of thousands of voices. On the other hand, the game Makoto created, born from memories known only to him, became a social phenomenon due to its technical merit and an intrigue no one had anticipated.
On the eve of the launch, Makoto and Ren ate dinner in silence, feeling the weight and lightness at the same time: the work of years would be condensed into a day that would arrive tomorrow.
They spoke little, looked a lot. Makoto looked at his phone, at the congratulatory messages, and for a second considered what would come next: if the game were a resounding success, what kind of paths would open? If it were a flop, what would he lose? Ren broke the silence.
"You've already done your part"
He said.
"The rest is just a scene."
Makoto nodded and smiled with a calm he didn't quite feel. Outside, Neuron City flickered like an ocean of LEDs, and at some point, millions of people were about to press the "buy", "play", or "watch" button.
The legend that began as a whisper inside the mind of a young developer was now, in every way, about to reveal itself to the world.
The next day would tell whether he would become a star or a comet, and regardless, the industry would never see him the same way again.